


two million yen

by springdaughter



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Eventual Smut, In order for the plot to work Akiteru is really out of character, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springdaughter/pseuds/springdaughter
Summary: “The name’s Kuroo,” he introduced, a wicked grin tracing his lips. “Pleasure's mine.”Kei said nothing. Kuroo continued.“You seem like a smart guy, Tsukishima-kun. I’ll give you three guesses as to why I’m here.”Kei only needed one.“Akiteru’s gotten into some trouble, hasn’t he?”-----Of all the people Kei expected to show up at his door on a Friday night, a member of the fucking yakuza surely wasn't one.
Relationships: Futakuchi Kenji/Tsukishima Kei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 54
Kudos: 318





	1. Akiteru’s gotten into some trouble, hasn't he?

**Author's Note:**

> reads best while listening to:
> 
> sick- barcelona  
> nothing to love about love - peking duk, the wombats

Despite its occasional hardships, Kei loved being independent.

Ever since moving to Tokyo, he’d been living on his own, renting a one-room apartment on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t a particularly nice place. Even by studio standards, the layout was cramped, with just barely enough room to accommodate a table and two chairs, his futon, a bookshelf, and his record player.

Even still, Kei felt lucky to have a space for himself. Rent was affordable, covered by his two part-time jobs: student-teaching and working at a local coffee shop. The complex was also less than five minutes away from his university. Best of all, he was on the tenth floor and therefore had a spectacular view of the skyline. On clear blue nights, Kei would sit on his terrace and just stare at Tokyo’s silhouette, listening to the car horns and distant sirens, savoring the cool breeze against his face.

The city sounds were still strange to his country-native ears, but a welcome change nonetheless. Kei had never liked nights back home; they were far too quiet and empty. He’d been falling asleep to music since he could remember, unable to rest without some kind of white noise to drown the silence. Now, when he was feeling particularly restless, it was a simple matter of opening the terrace door a crack and letting the city’s song flood his room.

He stood out on the terrace that very night. It was a small, gated space jutting out from the side of the building, with just enough room to accommodate two bodies. As he leaned against the railing, Kei closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A steaming mug of green tea warmed his hands. It was Friday, and he was looking forward to spending the weekend alone.

A sharp _ping_ disturbed his peace.

Kei pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. A text from mom. He didn’t bother opening the message. It was most likely her nightly check-in, nothing more. She’d been performing the same nervous ritual ever since he first moved out, nearly two years ago.

His mother was initially against him living in the city, still scarred by what happened to his older brother. Kei understood her concern. He felt it himself, even. But Kei was his own person; he wouldn’t repeat Akiteru’s mistakes. 

After moving to Tokyo - no, even before then - Kei’s older brother had been careless with his money and frivolous with his time, much to the family’s disdain. Failing out of college was his own fault. Perhaps if he spent more time studying and less time getting wasted and losing at pachinko, then his grades wouldn’t have been so awful. 

In contrast to Akiteru, Kei was more diligent with his work. Moreover, he was discerning of the company he kept. He would never associate with the same burnouts that steered his brother off the straight and narrow in the first place.

His mother knew this. It was likely the only reason she finally permitted him to attend university in Tokyo. She was confident in her youngest’s ability to stay out of trouble, regardless of his environment. Still, she was a bit overprotective of him. Not a day passed where she didn’t call or at least text. Usually, Kei would indulge her. But he was tired from the long week and not in the mood to talk. 

Responding to his mom could wait until tomorrow.

Kei took a sip from his tea and burned his tongue. Still too hot.

Waiting for his drink to cool, Kei admired the sky. The sun was setting over the city, casting the buildings in a magnificent blend of orange and pink. He breathed a deep contented sigh.

It wasn’t long before his peace was yet again disturbed, however, this time by a knock at the door: three hard raps of a knuckle against metal. The sudden noise startled Kei, who most certainly was not expecting company. He turned on the terrace and wondered who could be at his door on a Friday night. He only had a few friends who lived in the city and none of them were known to drop by unannounced. 

It couldn't be one of those door-to-door salesmen either. While it wasn’t unusual for them to hit the first couple floors of his apartment complex, the building’s elevator was currently out-of-order. No one in their right mind would have braved all ten flights of stairs just to get a door slammed in their face.

Perhaps it was his landlord, or a fellow tenant.

Kei was suddenly struck by a more compelling thought. Perhaps it was that good-for-nothing brother of his finally paying him a visit.

Since arriving in Tokyo, Kei hadn’t seen his older brother once. Akiteru was still living in the city as far as anyone knew. When he first moved, Kei had gone through the trouble of texting him his new address, hoping that this might be a way for them to reconnect as adults. But Akiteru never once stopped by. He didn’t even reply to the text.

Part of Kei was hurt by their estrangement, for it wasn’t always like this. He deeply admired Akiteru growing up. His older brother was popular amongst his peers and a talented athlete. Not to mention, they had a shared interest in volleyball. As they grew older and Akiteru gave up on the sport, however, the siblings gradually drifted apart. 

Over time, Kei found himself strangely relieved by their distance, as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. For as much as he cared for his brother, he didn’t necessarily trust him. In high school, he’d often witness Akiteru come home from Tokyo with the sole intention of borrowing cash from their parents. He would lie and say he needed the money for textbooks or food. At first, his parents were willing to believe him, shrugging off the inconsistencies in his stories as mere misunderstandings. Over time, however, Akiteru’s mooching became more frequent, his ploy more transparent.

Kei had a feeling that if Akiteru ever did show up at his doorstep, he’d only be there to ask for money. And Kei was in no position to be offering handouts. Rent may have been affordable, but combined with school and other expenses, he was basically living paycheck to paycheck.

Kei stepped back into his apartment and set his mug down on the kitchen counter. He then made his way to the door and braced himself. If it was indeed his brother, he’d have to be firm. Welcoming, but firm. 

The door opened. Rather than being greeted by Akiteru's sheepish smile, however, Kei was met with an unfamiliar smirk. 

The first thing he noticed was the man’s height. He stood six feet tall at least, which put him precisely at eye-level with Kei. This alone was striking, as Kei was long and lanky. His awkward height usually meant looking down on others. The fact that he was staring directly forward felt unnerving.

Kei also noticed that the man’s eyes were obscured by black rimless sunglasses, which was strange considering the late hour. His hair was dark and unruly, his stature broad and imposing. The black suit he wore looked expensive and had been neatly-tailored to fit his body. Kei’s eyes flickered to the collar of his the white dress shirt, left intentionally unbuttoned, and caught sight of the ink peeking out at his collarbones.

All at once, the puzzle pieces fit together.

_Oh no._

“You’re quite trusting, aren’t you? Opening your door so wide like that.”

Before Kei could comprehend what was happening, the man stepped forward, firmly planting his left hand and leg against the door. Kei instinctively took a step backwards and let go of the handle. A mistake, in hindsight.

“Next time, use the chain lock,” the man advised, his grin wide. He removed his sunglasses to reveal sharp amber eyes. Kei felt his body begin to shake.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded.

“The answer to that question should be obvious, Tsukishima Kei.”

At the use of his full name, Kei’s blood froze. His hand darted for his cell. Indeed, he knew exactly who this person was - or rather, _what_ he was.

“Leave right now or I’ll call the police.”

The man shook his head and clicked his tongue in disapproval. He placed his hands on his hips, pushing his jacket back to reveal a revolver tucked into the waistband of his pants.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he said frankly.

Kei’s swallowed hard, golden eyes fixed on the gun. After a moment’s hesitation, he slowly dropped his phone on the kitchen counter. He then raised both hands in the air.

“Good boy,” the man said, letting the jacket fall back into place. He took two more steps into the apartment and kicked the door closed behind him. Then, without breaking eye contact, he locked it for good measure.

“I don’t understand. What does a member of the yakuza want with me?” Kei asked. He desperately searched the man’s face for a reason. The man inspected him as well, his narrow eyes flickering up and down with an unreadable expression. 

In contrast to the man’s formal attire, Kei was starkly underdressed, wearing only the lounge wear he’d cared to throw on after his shower: a loose t-shirt and shorts.

“On the floor, Tsukishima-kun,” the man said, gesturing to the center of the apartment, ignoring his question. 

Kei resented the condescension in his tone, yet obediently did as he was told, backing up slowly and descending down to his knees. The man grabbed a chair from the table and dragged it between them. He then straddled it’s seat and propped an arm on it’s wooden back, twirling the sunglasses in his fingers.

“The name’s Kuroo,” he introduced, a wicked grin tracing his lips. “Pleasure's mine.”

Kei said nothing. Kuroo continued.

“You seem like a smart guy, Tsukishima-kun. I’ll give you three guesses as to why I’m here.”

Kei only needed one.

“Akiteru’s gotten into some trouble, hasn’t he?”

“Bingo.”

Kei felt his stomach drop. His fear must’ve shown, for Kuroo’s eyebrows knit with patronizing sympathy. He cocked his head to the side. “Don’t worry, younger brother. He’s still alive...as far as I know.”

“ _As far as you know?_ ” Kei pressed.

Kuroo shrugged nonchalantly. “He’s run off by the looks of it. I dropped by his apartment earlier to collect the remainder of his debt and found it completely empty - abandoned. He couldn’t have gotten too far. I’ve got some men on the street looking for him now. I really do hate waiting around, though, so I figured I’d pay his dear family a visit in the meantime.”

A chill ran down Kei’s spine. _A yakuza debt collector?_ What exactly had Akiteru gotten himself into? 

“How did you know where I live?” 

"The contract, of course."

" _What_ contract?"

Kuroo raised an eyebrow Kei, waiting for him to figure it out. It wasn’t long before the harrowing realization dawned.

Kei shook his head stubbornly. “He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but he would. It’s a simple policy. Can’t borrow cash without a little insurance. And you, little brother, were signed off as Akiteru's guarantor.”

Kei couldn't believe what he was hearing. "No, that's impossible. I never signed anything."

Kuroo produced a folded slip of paper from the interior of his jacket. He then presented it to Kei, gesturing to the bottom of the page. Kei immediately recognized the familiar characters of his brother's messy signature. Then, below that, he noticed the poor replication of his own signature, accompanied with his address and phone number. 

Kei was struck silent. He had given Akiteru that personal information as an olive branch. A show of good faith. And _this_ is how he’s treated? He really shouldn’t have been surprised, given Akiteru's track record. Still, Kei didn’t want to believe it.

Kuroo slipped the contract back into his jacket pocket. "Judging by your reaction, I'm assuming you were unaware this deal. My apologies for the miscommunication," he said without trace of sympathy. "Having your signature foraged is a raw deal, I'll grant you that. But let's not get caught up in the specifics. I don't really give a shit who signed what. All I care about is the money, whether it comes from him or you makes no difference to me."

Of course, Kei couldn't expect anything else from the yakuza. What did Kuroo care if the contract was bullshit? He had an address and a name. As far as he was concerned, everything else was irrelevant. 

“How much does Akiteru owe?” Kei asked after a beat of silence. 

"Two million yen.” 

Kei felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

Two million yen. Two _million_ yen. How the hell had Akiteru managed to burn through all that money? (That was a rhetorical question; Kei knew exactly what Akiteru had spent it on.) At the rate Kei was earning from his part time jobs, it would take half a year to pay off that kind debt. And that wasn’t taking into consideration rent, school, food, and other necessities he’d need to pay for each month. When all was said and done, he would only be able to spare about fifty thousand yen at a time.

“I-I...” he stuttered.

“Hmm?” Kuroo hummed. He propped his head in one hand and nudged Kei’s knee with the toe of his shoe. “Out with it.”

“I’ll need forty months, at least,” Kei said finally. 

“Forty, huh?” Kuroo repeated, and then again, as if he were mulling it over, “Forty...hmm…” He scratched his head. “Yeah, no can do. I’m expecting payment much sooner. Rather than forty months, how does four sound?”

Kei gawked incredulously. “I don’t have that kind of money, not even in my savings. I-” Kuroo stopped him again, standing suddenly and turning around.

“I see excuses run in the family…”

“But-”

“Look kid, it’s not like I don’t believe you,” Kuroo continued. He began walking around the tiny studio apartment, examining all of Kei’s belongings, or lack thereof. The single room felt especially cramped now with the two of them in it.

“I get it. You’re just a poor college student,” he commented, running his finger along the dusty bookshelf. “Regardless of what you might think, I’m not here to ruin your life. I’m a pretty nice guy, actually.”

“If you’re really a nice guy, then you’d give me more than four months to figure this out,” Kei snapped, almost out of instinct. He bit his tongue when Kuroo turned around, however. The easy-going smile had vanished from his face.

 _Remember who you’re talking to, idiot_.

“I’m a nice guy,” Kuroo repeated, moving closer so his significant height could truly tower over Kei. He put his foot on the latter’s thigh, gradually adding pressure with each word. “But my patience is running thin. Do you know when your brother first borrowed that money, Tsukishima-kun?”

Kei winced at the heel digging further in. “Fuck- I don’t know!”

“Two years ago,” Kuroo answered, his voice low and venomous. “I’ve _been_ patient. But I’m tired of the excuses. I’m done waiting for your dirtbag brother to get his shit together and pay me back. If you want someone to blame, then blame Akiteru for running off and leaving you to settle affairs. I’m just collecting what I’m owed.”

With the last word, Kuroo’s foot let up. He stepped back. “Be grateful I’m giving you four months. That’s me being fucking generous.”

Kei clenched his teeth. _Generous, my ass_. He had some much he wanted to say in response, none of which would serve him well, so instead he settled on, “Then what do you suggest I do?”

At this question, Kuroo seemed to relax. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and did a once over of Kei. As he considered him, Kuroo's easy grin resurfaced. Then, without a trace of humor, he said, “Frankly speaking, with a face and body like that, you might as well whore yourself out. I’ll admit you’re not really my type, but I know quite a few people whose preference is pretty boys with shitty attitudes. You’d have no problem making the money back in four months, and then some.”

“Out of the fucking question,” Kei snapped. This time he felt no remorse for his sharp tone.

Kuroo shrugged off the vitriol with feigned innocence. “Suit yourself. It’s merely an option.”

“Well, give me others," Kei said through his glare. While he wasn’t a stranger to no-strings-sex and one night hook-ups, there was no way in hell he’d be ‘whoring himself out’ to a bunch of yakuza thugs. He’d never stoop so low to pay off his own debt, let alone someone else’s.

“Other options?” Kuroo hummed in thought. “Sell something valuable.”

Kei just stared back at him, his expression deadpan. He gestured vaguely around the room. “Does it look like I have any valuables to sell?”

“You've got two kidneys.”

“ _No_ ,” Kei repeated firmly. “There has to be another way that doesn’t involve me selling some part of my body.”

Wordlessly, Kuroo walked over to the kitchen. He retrieved the cellphone from the counter and then handed it back to a bewildered Kei.

“My threat from earlier still stands,” Kuroo warned, “so don’t even think about calling the police.”

Kei looked at the cell in his hand, unsure of what Kuroo wanted him to do with it. “Um…”

“Call up mommy and daddy,” Kuroo explained, “and tell ‘em you’re low on cash. Make up some lie about why you need it. Say it’s for school or whatever.”

All of a sudden, Kei had vivid flashbacks of Akiteru’s sheepish grin, his hollow promises to pay his parents back, his flimsy stories that would unravel with the slightest pressure. There was no way Kei could lie like that to his parents. Not after he’d spent his entire life building back up the trust that his brother stole from them.

Besides, Kei didn't want to risk having his parents catch on to the lie. If his mom discovered the truth, she would definitely try to handle everything herself. And while that might have been easier in the long run, Kei couldn't stand the thought of her cleaning up after her irresponsible eldest for the hundredth time.

Worse yet, it would mean putting a swift end to his independence. Getting mixed up with the yakuza - intentional or not - was something Kei could never come back from. His mom would force him to come home and transfer to a local university, forever fearing for his safety in Tokyo.

“I can’t do that,” Kei said after a while. “I won’t.”

Kuroo frowned. “You’re running out of options, kid. If you really can’t earn the money on your own, then don’t you think borrowing is your only choice?”

“Please, there has to be another way,” Kei insisted.

Kuroo raised his eyebrows, unamused. “Oh, there is.”

In one swift motion, he reached behind his jacket and pulled out the revolver, pressing the barrel to the center of Kei’s temple. The gun was comparably small in his big hands, yet no less threatening. Kei felt his heart stop when he heard the _click_ of the safety being pulled back.

“Wait, wait, wait-” Kei fell backwards, his palms hitting the floor with a _thud_. “Don’t shoot!”

Amidst the frantic flailing, Kuroo kept his hand steady, maintaining his aim between Kei’s eyes. “Don’t make me shoot, Tsukishima-kun. I’d hate to ruin that pretty face.”

Kei opened his mouth, and then closed it, slowly realizing the true gravity of his situation. The look in Kuroo’s cold eyes told him everything he needed to know. It was true, this man really didn’t want to kill Kei. He didn’t _want_ to, yet he absolutely would, given the necessary circumstances.

Kei needed to be careful.

No - he needed to be smart.

“Give me more time,” Kei said suddenly. It wasn't a question.

Kuroo’s brows furrowed with annoyance, tired of treading over the same ground, “Like I said, you’ve got four months _maximum_ to get me the money-”

“No,” he interrupted, “that’s not what I meant. I want more time to think things over right now.”

The steady hand finally wavered at this. Kuroo let his arm drop, allowing the barrel of the gun to point at the floor. 

“What do you think this is? A fucking job offer?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m hungry,” Kei said, interrupting again.

“The fuck's that got to do with anything?” 

“It’s almost seven,” he continued, the words practically spilling from his mouth, “and I haven’t eaten since noon. Give me some time to make dinner, and afterwards I’ll tell you exactly how I plan to pay you back.”

Kuroo scoffed, almost laughing at Kei’s proposition. He looked up at the ceiling, unable to believe the gall of this kid. He then checked his watch, as if he had somewhere important to be. After a few seconds of consideration, Kuroo shook his head and put the gun away. For a split second, Kei thought he saw a glimmer of amusement flashing in those amber eyes.

“Fine,” he relented, “but I’m not leaving this shitty apartment without your actual signature on this contract.”

“Fine,” Kei agreed. “I’m making soba.”


	2. You’re playing a dangerous game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mild violence

As Kei chopped green onions and boiled water for the noodles, he silently ran through every possible outcome of his current predicament.

It had already been established that running away or calling the police would result in immediate death, so Kei took those options off the table. In the same vain, fighting back wouldn’t work either. Nevermind the gun, Kei knew his odds at beating Kuroo in a physical match were slim to none. While they were equal in height, Kuroo’s broad stature alluded to muscle hidden beneath that suit. There was no way Kei stood a chance, nor did he care to risk going up against a member of the yakuza.

He could try appealing to Kuroo’s inner empathy, though Kei couldn’t imagine a real beating heart existing underneath that hollow husk. Yakuza were not exactly known for being sympathetic to the plight of others.

Inevitably, Kei’s mind kept circling back to his parents. Though calling them would definitely be the easiest out, Kei refused to ask for money. It either meant betraying their trust or sacrificing the life he’d built for himself in Tokyo. Perhaps Kei was being irrational, but he wasn’t about to let Akiteru’s poor life decisions impede his self-earned independence and autonomy. 

Besides, it wasn’t like Kei was without options. He didn’t nearly have enough money now, but perhaps if he sold his records and books and moved into a cheaper apartment and took out some loans...

The water began to bubble, returning Kei to the present. He brought the heat down to medium, and then methodically dropped the soba noodles into the pot. All the while, he felt Kuroo’s eyes trained to his back, watching his every movement like a hawk. 

“Who the hell just eats soba for dinner?” Kuroo said finally, breaking a prolonged and uncomfortable silence.

Kei couldn’t tell if the question was genuine or rhetorical. Either way, the heavy atmosphere of the room compelled him to answer. “Plenty of people eat soba for dinner.”

“Yeah, as a side dish,” Kuroo went on. He had an elbow propped on the table, his chin resting in his palm. He looked annoyed. “There’s no protein. You need to pair it with fish or meat or tofu or something with substance. Soba alone isn’t enough.”

Was this Kuroo’s idea of small talk? Criticizing his eating habits? Kei didn’t know how to respond. “It’s enough for me.”

He was too busy stirring the softening noodles to notice Kuroo rolling his eyes. “It’s no wonder you’re all skin and bones. You really ought to eat a more well-balanced diet.”

Kei bristled. Was this guy really lecturing him on nutrition right now? Kei turned from the stove to meet Kuroo’s judgemental gaze. He then gestured to the door. “If my dinner makes you that upset, you’re welcome to leave.”

Kuroo flashed a humorless smile. “Nice try, smartass.”

Kei returned his attention to the noodles, which were finally ready. He moved the pot from the stove top and drained it’s contents in a colander over the sink. “Alright then, what do _you_ normally make for dinner, Mr. Shady-Debt-Collector?”

If there was any offense taken at Kei’s nickname, it did now show. Kuroo had heard much worse, anyway. He just reclined in the seat and shrugged. “I eat out, mainly. Don’t have time to cook.”

“And you’re the one lecturing me about poor eating habits?” Kei scoffed. He opened one of the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a bowl for himself. He then paused. Should he offer food to Kuroo? 

Kei wasn’t an outwardly polite person. Still, he’d been raised with basic manners. Eating dinner in front of someone without offering to share did seem quite rude. Of course, Kei was unsure if such pleasantries applied to a home invasion.

“Have you had dinner yet?” He asked after some consideration. Perhaps this would go towards ‘appealing to Kuroo’s inner empathy’.

Kuroo’s brows arched curiously, unsure if Kei was being serious or not. “I have not,” he said.

In response, Kei pulled out a second bowl. The seemingly benign action elicited a defensive response from Kuroo. He bolted upright, as if Kei had just made a lunge for the door or pulled a knife on him. He watched in bewilderment as two servings were prepared before him. 

“What are you doing?”

Kei just looked at him blankly. “What? Do you not like soy sauce?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Kei brought over the soba and set a bowl in front of the dumbfounded Kuroo. He took his seat opposite and picked up a set of chopsticks. “I made extra, it’s not a big deal.”

Kuroo looked down at the steaming bowl of buckwheat noodles, bathed in sesame oil, soy sauce, rice vinegar, sugar, and topped with sesame seeds and green onion. It smelled good and Kuroo was indeed hungry, but the gesture was so odd that he couldn’t bring himself to eat.

“What?” Kei repeated. “It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t,” Kuroo said. “But now that you say that…”

“Fine, if you don’t want it -” Kei reached across the table to take the bowl back and Kuroo grabbed his wrist firmly.

“I never said that.”

Kuroo’s gaze was intense, his grip strong and unyielding. Heat rushed to the point of contact, yet Kei was left frozen, unable to wrench his hand away.

After what felt like an eternity, Kuroo released his iron grip in favor of picking up the bowl and set of chopsticks.

“Thanks for the food,” he said half-heartedly.

Kei rubbed his now sore wrist, watching with unease as Kuroo enjoyed the dinner he had cooked.

“S’not bad,” he admitted.

“...Thanks.”

Kei’s brain was slow to comprehend Kuroo’s body language. Only in hindsight, as he watched the yakuza’s shoulders relax and felt the tension of the room dissipate, did he understand what just happened. When Kei reached over the table, it wasn’t entirely clear what his intentions were. Though it seemed obvious to him that he was merely retrieving the bowl, he also inadvertently moved towards the left side of Kuroo’s abdomen - the same place where the revolver was tucked away.

Kuroo thought he was trying to take the gun.

All of a sudden, a new idea crept it’s way into Kei’s mind.

Somehow, Kei needed to distract Kuroo long enough to get that revolver into his possession. As it stood, the damned contract was the only thing tying him to Akiteru and this mess. Kuroo wouldn't hand it over willingly, Kei knew that. With the gun, however, he could take it by force and destroy it. Moreover, he could call the cops. Though the police wouldn’t be of much help in the long run, their presence would at least scare Kuroo off for the night. That would give Kei enough time to catch his breath and formulate a better plan.

Of course, if he was going to attempt such a risky move, he couldn’t do so recklessly. Taking the gun would be no small feat, and one pertinent issue remained: how the hell was Kei going to get a member of the yakuza to lower his guard?

“Looks like you’re actually putting some thought into this,” Kuroo remarked, stirring Kei from his internal monologue. He had been studying him intently for the past minute, unbeknownst to Kei.

He blinked twice, startled. "...Of course, I am. Two million yen is a lot of money."

Kuroo didn't refute him. "You're a student, right? That mean your parents are payin' for this place?"

"No, I pay my own rent."

"You got a bad relationship with 'em or something? Is that why you won't ask them for money?"

"It's not like that," Kei said, shaking his head. "They're still paying for school. In exchange, we agreed that I'd be responsible for everything else. A stipulation for attending university in Tokyo."

Kuroo hummed with intrigue. He placed his chopsticks on top of the now empty bowl. "You have a part time job?"

"Two," Kei answered, and then immediately wondered why he was telling Kuroo all this. The details of Kei's personal life were none of this man's concern.

"Well, aren't you the busy-body," Kuroo observed. He leaned forward, his amber eyes sharp and perceptive. This man was no one's fool. If Kei was going to trick him, he'd have to put on a convincing show, whatever it was. 

"Look kid, I'm not one to offer unsolicited advice," Kuroo began after a while, "but you really ought to consider using your parents to get the money. I know I'm the one who set the ultimatum, so this might come off as contradictory, but I highly doubt you're gonna be able to collect two million yen in four months. At least, not by yourself."

Kei raised his eyebrows in skepticism. Kuroo was right; his advice _was_ unsolicited. "I thought you didn't care where the money came from."

"I don't," Kuroo granted. He shifted in his seat, reclining further back. "But if you can't get the cash for whatever reason, then it becomes my problem. And I really hate playing the bad guy."

"Ironic, given your profession," Kei remarked. 

"Yeah, well...we don't always have control over the cards we're dealt," he mused distantly. There wasn't any resentment in his tone - just a resigned frankness. "Much like yourself."

 _Indeed_ , Kei thought bitterly. Kei's mind lingered on Kuroo's words, remembering threat from earlier, recalling the cold metal of the gun pressed against his temple. He shuddered, not daring to imagine what came next.

He wouldn't let it get that far.

“I see you enjoyed my soba, despite criticizing it earlier,” Kei noted. He was quick to change the subject.

“Don’t get cocky, now.” Kuroo’s lips stretched to a full smirk as he spoke. “It was just alright.”

“Is that why you ate all of it?”

Kuroo glanced pointedly at Kei’s unfinished bowl. “Only assholes waste food. What happened to your hunger, Tsukishima-kun? Did you suddenly lose your appetite? Or was this whole thing just a ploy to prolong the inevitable?”

Kei followed Kuroo’s eyes to his half-eaten dinner. No use in denying it, he supposed. 

“Both,” he answered.

Kuroo stood abruptly, causing Kei to jump. He put a firm hand down on the table and leaned over, his other hand resting at his hip. “Alright, you’ve had time to eat,” he said, “now let’s get back to business.”

In was in this moment that Kei realized just how...not ugly...this bastard was. Kei didn't want to say handsome, as that implied some kind of attraction. But, as much as he hated to admit it, there was something intriguing about the sharp curve of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, the perfect messiness of his hair. Kei was too overwhelmed with shock to notice Kuroo's appeal earlier. But with his body positioned over Kei now, it was almost impossible to ignore. 

Suddenly, Kei had his answer to the lingering question: he knew _exactly_ what he’d do to lower this man's guard.

Rather than shrink away, Kei moved on instinct. He leaned closer to the yakuza, gold eyes meeting amber in a fearless hold. 

“Earlier, you said that I wasn’t your type,” he began slowly, testing the waters. They were close enough that Kei could smell Kuroo’s heavy cologne. The cloying scent made him want to pull away, but he stood his ground and kept his expression placid.

After a beat of weighted silence, Kei let his gaze intentionally fall to Kuroo’s lips and continued, “Why is that?”

Kuroo’s eyes darkened, ever-so-slightly. He didn’t budge from his looming position, yet the space between them seemed to shrink regardless. 

“What the hell does that have to do with the contract?” Kuroo asked in a low voice, searching Kei’s expression for an explanation despite already knowing the answer.

Now, it was Kei’s turn to take the lead. He stood up without warning, and collected the bowls as if nothing had just occurred between them. “It doesn’t. I’m just curious.”

Kei brought the dirty dishes to the sink and turned on the water. All the while, he could feel those perceptive eyes trailing behind, burning holes in his back, trying to decipher Kei’s impassive nonchalance.

Eventually, over the sound of rushing water and clinking ceramics, came Kuroo’s voice, an added sting laced between his words.

“For the record, I’m not into bitchy prudes.”

Kei took his time scrubbing and rinsing out the dishes before placing them on the adjacent drying rack. He then grabbed an old rag off the counter and dried his hands, turning to face Kuroo. He didn’t bother refuting that first part. 

“Why do you assume I’m prude? Because I won’t sell my body for sex?”

“Well, that’s one part of it,” Kuroo said, his tone morphing from sharp to condescending. “In general, you give off a frigid vibe. Can’t imagine someone like you would ever cut loose and fuck for the sake of it.”

Kei was only mildly offended by the accusation. “I’ve had plenty of meaningless sex,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Kuroo whistled, eyebrows raised in a manner that was only half-exaggerated. “Oh?”

Kei threw the rag back on the counter. He then crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I actually prefer sex with no-strings-attached.”

Each word was deliberate, an unspoken challenge. _Lower your guard. Lose your edge. Forget about why you came here and indulge_. 

Kuroo met his challenge duly, walking towards Kei as he spoke, as if steadily pulled in by gravity. “And how’s that any different than whoring yourself out for money?”

Kei pretended to give the question serious thought, as if he hadn’t already decided on the direction of this conversation. “Well, I wouldn’t want to have sex with a bunch of strangers.”

Some semblance of clarity still lived in Kuroo’s eyes. But her sharp knife grew ever-dull with each of Kei’s subtle invitations. The eye contact, the suggestive tone, it was all too intriguing for Kuroo to ignore.

“And what qualifies a stranger in your book?” He asked. 

Kei let himself be cornered, his lower back hitting the edge of the counter as the distance between them whittled down to mere centimeters. A smirk graced his lips, before he confessed, “I suppose someone stops being a stranger when we’ve had dinner together.”

“...Is that right?” Kuroo said, swallowing hard. 

It took every ounce of Kei’s restraint not to lunge for the gun now. He was so close, yet the morbid threat of failure still loomed over his head. Kuroo had him trapped. Should something go wrong, he’d be without an escape route, and he wasn’t prepared to risk it coming to that. Kei resolved to keep pushing until there was no room left for error.

The two stood locked in heated eye contact for what felt like hours. Eventually, Kuroo was the one to break it, leaning in. For a split second, Kei was sure they would kiss, closing his eyes on reflex. But the cathartic sensation never arrived. Instead, he felt Kuroo’s hot breath fanning his ear, sending electricity down his spine.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, kid,” Kuroo whispered.

Kei didn’t need to see his face to know he was flustered. Every part of his body was hot, singed by a volatile mixture of stimulation and genuine fear. Kuroo’s resonant tone shouldn’t have sparked such a reaction in him, and yet...

_Don’t lose focus, this is your chance._

Careful not to set off the yakuza’s defenses again, Kei uncrossed his arms and lightly placed them atop Kuroo’s chest, letting his fingertips trail down the crisp white shirt, past his ribs, taking in the solidness of his body. “You keep calling me kid,” he said, hands ever-so-slowly approaching Kuroo’s abdomen, “but how old are you really?”

Despite his best efforts at being sly, Kei was soon caught again, his wrists wrenched up and away.

“Old enough to know exactly what you’re doing,” Kuroo said, though his grip was not nearly as firm as the words implied.

With his arms immobilized, Kei should have felt scared. But the instinct was dying fast. Instead, it was overtaken by something just as primal. Kei was beginning to enjoy this game of cat and mouse, largely because he knew he was winning. He could see his victory reflected in Kuroo’s slipping countenance. It was only a matter of time before he folded.

“You know what I’m doing?” Kei asked, turning his head to the side, playing dumb. His wrists were still restrained, so he made due with the parts of his body he did have control over - namely, his long, slender, and very exposed legs. Kuroo’s breathing hitched when he felt Kei’s right knee slip between his thighs, hips rocking once to hint at the possibility of greater friction. A deep, wanting groan caught in Kuroo’s throat. 

“But you’re still falling for it.” Kei smirked. “Are you _sure_ I’m not your type?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kuroo snarled. It was a base response that betrayed his inability to think clearly.

“Make me.”

Kuroo did one better. Rather than following through with Kei’s challenge, he released his wrists in favor of twirling Kei around and bending him over the counter. Kei’s reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop his face from hitting the surface. Pain throbbed at his temple. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Karma was laughing at him. _That’s what you get for overestimating yourself._

“You really are a slut,” Kuroo scoffed, his body eclipsing the blonde, acting as an additional weight. One hand pressed into Kei’s hair while the other pinned his arm at his lower back. It was a militant hold, demonstrating that Kuroo was indeed a man with a body count. 

“Practically begging me to fuck you, as if that’s going to help your debt.” Despite the forcefulness with which they pushed Kei down, Kuroo’s hands somehow retained an unnerving gentleness to them. His fingers brushed back the flaxen hair at the crown of his head gently, like a lover would. “I’m not gonna pay you for _shit_ , kid. Though, if you try this cute routine on someone else, I’m sure they’d shell out a pretty penny to wipe that smug look off your face.”

 _Is that what he thinks I’m after?_ Even in such a compromising position, Kei somehow had the courage to grin. “When did I ever say this was about the money?”

For the first time that night, Kuroo allowed the surprise he felt to actually show on his face. Whatever he was expecting in response, that surely was not it.

Kei filled the silence while Kuroo was at a loss for words. “How’s about you chill with the bad guy routine and let me show you what this is _really_ about.”

Kuroo did as he was instructed and stepped away, allowing Kei to push himself up and rub his still-throbbing forehead. 

When he turned back around, he was met with a hesitant stare. Once again, Kuroo was on high alert, unable to fathom Kei’s intentions. He had been smart to assume there was an alternative motive in the seduction, but failed to infer precisely what it was.

This was working better than Kei could have hoped. At that moment, the gun was the furthest thing from Kuroo’s mind.

“You still seem to be struggling, so I’ll make it easy for you to understand,” Kei began. He met Kuroo where he stood, this time not caring to keep his movements slow or deliberate. “I might not be your type,” he continued, hands finding their way to the back of Kuroo’s neck, “but you’re mine. Tall, dark, _dangerous_...” Kei’s fingers caressed the soft skin of his nape, slipping under the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, gliding over the exposed tattoos. “I’m feeling particularly frustrated right now. And you’re already fucking me over with this debt, so might as well take full responsibility, yeah?”

It was too easy. Kei watched as the yakuza melted with each pretty lie, and he knew the deal was sealed the moment he felt Kuroo's hands fall to his waist, gripping the fabric of his loose t-shirt and pulling him closer.

“Don’t start something you have no intention of finishing, Tsukishima-kun,” he warned, pressing their foreheads together. His gaze was fully dark now, hooded by lust.

Kei responded with a chaste kiss. “Call me Kei,” he whispered before leaning in again.

The kiss was gentle and measured. Kei didn’t want to blow everything by rushing, so he kept his pace undemanding. Kuroo’s lips were soft and hesitant against his, which was surprising. Kei didn’t know what he expected from a member of the yakuza. A little more force, maybe? Certainly not this steady dance. 

Of course, he didn’t _mind_ going slow. If anything, it gave him more time to plan his next move.

The sweet cologne that previously repulsed him was somehow more tolerable at a closer distance. Perhaps it was the fact that Kei’s other senses were temporarily overwhelmed with more potent sensations. Like the feeling of Kuroo’s tongue as it traced along his upper lip. Or the sound of his first name spoken in that low purr.

“Is this what you wanted, Kei?”

Kei only hummed in affirmation, losing himself a little bit in the words. Despite himself, he liked the way his name sounded on those lips.

In response, he laced his fingers through that mess of black hair, surprised again by it’s soft texture. His fingernails lightly dragged across Kuroo's scalp, thumbs tracing along the outer shell of his ears. 

Breathless, Kei pulled back. It wasn’t quite enough. Kuroo’s body was still too tense; he hadn’t fully submitted to this yet. Kei needed to push a little further. Against Kuroo’s parted lips, he begged for, “ _More_.”

And Kuroo was all too happy to oblige him. His initial hesitance suddenly passed and the rhythm of the kiss heated up. Kei licked inside Kuroo’s mouth before swirling their tongues together. He then moved to suck on Kuroo’s bottom lip, nipping and tugging gently at the plump skin.

In response, Kuroo’s hands ventured further and further down. They stroked the thin fabric of his shorts, which were really nothing more than glorified boxers riding dangerously high on his thighs. An involuntary gasp escaped Kei’s mouth when Kuroo squeezed his ass. The sound then morphed into a wanton moan when his hands slipped under the flimsy fabric to grope at his bare skin.

Spurred on by the positive reaction, Kuroo smirked against his lips. 

“I apologize for my earlier judgement,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re _definitely_ not prude.”

Kei rolled his eyes, yet found himself too curious not to ask. “What is your type, anyway?”

Kuroo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back in to kiss along Kei’s jawline. The latter acquiesced by tilting his head to the side, eyelids fluttering. Kuroo’s lips stopped when he reached Kei’s ear, nipping and licking the skin before whispering, “Slutty blondes.”

Kei resented the way his body shuddered. _Focus, focus, focus._

Easier said than done. For Kuroo took that exact moment as an opportunity to exact his revenge for earlier. Using his left leg to split Kei's thighs apart, Kuroo tightened his grip on his ass and slotted their hips together, rocking into him. Kei’s hands instinctively dropped to Kuroo’s shoulders, holding tightly. He buried his face in the crook of Kuroo’s neck and fought back a whine of pleasure.

 _Fuck_ , the friction felt so good. Kei had never meant for it to get this far, but here they were, practically dry humping in the middle of his apartment. 

Perhaps he’d been a little too convincing with his want. In all honesty, it’d been several months since Kei last slept with someone. Moreover, he couldn’t recall the last time he ever had this much chemistry with a partner. Part of him wished they’d met under different circumstances. After all, he hadn’t _exactly_ been lying when he said that Kuroo was his type. 

As their bodies synched in motion, a different timeline of events raced through Kei’s mind. He imagined the two of them meeting in a smoky bar, locking eyes from across the room, talking over a drink or two, before sneaking away to a love hotel and shacking up for the night. The sex would be great, he knew. 

It’s too bad they would never get to that part.

Kuroo was here for one purpose and one purpose only: to collect Akiteru’s debt. He had demanded payment from Kei, pushed him down on the counter. He had even threatened to kill him twice. No matter how good the sex might be, there was no way _in hell_ Kei would let himself be fucked by this bastard.

Something hard pressed into his side. For once, Kei was thankful it was the gun.

“Take this off,” Kei requested, tugging at the suit jacket. Kuroo stopped grinding their hips long enough to comply. As he shrugged the black garment off his shoulders and onto the floor, Kei’s gaze flickered to the waistband of his pants, watching and waiting. The second that the revolver was visible, he made his move. Kei pressed his lips back on Kuroo’s for one last passionate kiss, knowing it would distract him long enough to secure a hand around the exposed grip.

Once Kei finally broke the kiss, he took the revolver and stepped backwards, putting as much distance as he could between them. Still dazed by the kiss, Kuroo’s reaction was perfectly delayed. By the time he could comprehend what had happened, the gun was already centered at his chest. 

Kei’s entire body was shaking from the rush of adrenaline and his hands couldn’t keep steady, but none of that mattered. 

He’d actually done it.

“You clever bitch,” Kuroo remarked. There was admiration in his voice.

Kuroo should have been shocked. At the very least, with the barrel of a gun pointed at his person, he should have been scared. But he was neither. Rather, Kuroo looked impressed. He was even grinning.

This immediately set off Kei’s internal alarm. “Don’t come near me,” he warned, trying his best to keep his aim straight. “I’ll shoot.”

“Go ahead and try,” Kuroo invited. “It’s not loaded.”

There was a sudden ringing in Kei’s ear, as if a bomb had been set off in his periphery and left him temporarily deaf. He couldn’t comprehend what Kuroo had just said.

“It’s…”

“...not loaded,” Kuroo finished, repeating himself. A chuckle escaped his lips. “Damn, that was some show you put on. You actually had me going for a second.” 

Kei’s brows furrowed in disbelief, unable to comprehend the situation. “No. That’s not…” Rather than finish the thought, he turned his attention to the revolver, pushing out the cylinder to confirm for himself. It was indeed as Kuroo had said; there were no bullets. It wasn’t loaded - it had _never_ been loaded.

“ _Why_ _do you carry around an empty revolver?_ ” He demanded to know, as if that was the most unbelievable part of this whole ordeal. Kei let the useless weapon drop and clatter on the hardwood floor. He then kicked it across the room for good measure.

“Usually the sight is threatening enough,” Kuroo explained, gesturing to his hip. “It worked with you, as it does with most sensible people. In reality, though, I’m a terrible shot. Having a loaded gun on my person is more of a hazard than anything else. So I usually just forgo it altogether.”

The weight of this revelation nearly sent Kei to his knees. He stumbled backwards, managing to catch himself last second on the kitchen counter. _It was all for nothing_. He pressed his head into both palms, his body still shaking violently.

“What am I gonna do?” He asked himself in quiet desperation.

Now, he was really out of options. Without the gun to give him leverage against Kuroo, there was no way he’d be able to get that contract. Kuroo would force him to sign and actually pay off the two million yen. He was actually going to have to prostitute himself, or sell a kidney, or move back home...

Kuroo bent over to pick up his coat. As he slipped it back on, he lamented, “It’s a shame really. We were just getting to the good part.”

Kei couldn’t tell if he was deliberately being facetious, but his attitude lit a fire inside him regardless. As Kuroo was busy straightening out his suit, Kei stormed up to him and grabbed him by the collar, jostling him to attention. 

“Threatening me with an empty gun - I should fucking sue you for emotional damages, asshole.”

This had Kuroo laughing. “I’d _love_ to see you make that case in court.”

Kei’s jaw clenched. The anger took hold of him, and he couldn’t stop himself from slapping Kuroo across the face, hard. His right palm stung from the contact. After everything he just endured, however, the pain was worth it’s cathartic satisfaction.

Kuroo was quiet for a second, staring at the adjacent wall, a red mark blooming at his cheek. He adjusted his jaw before turning back to face Kei. Gone was his affable persona, instead replaced by a contemptuous gaze. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that…”

As payback, Kuroo delivered a swift punch to Kei’s gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. He doubled over, coughing and sputtering. Kuroo then grabbed one of his wrists and twisted it behind his back, forcing him upright. His other hand wrapped around Kei’s shoulders to immobilize him completely.

"Let go of me, asshole," Kei demanded, struggling against the grip.

Kuroo didn't waver, instead spitting more venom in Kei’s ear. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were cute.” 

The unexpected sound of a phone ringing startled them both. It cut through the tension of the room like a knife. Kei’s stomach dropped, recognizing his own ringtone immediately. From where his phone had been left on the kitchen counter, he could see which contact was currently lighting up the screen.

_Mom._


	3. Whatever he gets is what he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of weight loss and disordered eating
> 
> also, I haven't clarified this yet but 2,000,000 yen = about 20,000 US dollars and 500,000 yen = about 5,000 US dollars
> 
> enjoy :-)

The phone rang once, then twice. With each subsequent tone, Kei felt his heart leap from his chest.

“Let me answer it,” he begged, losing all sense of shame at his current predicament, submitting to Kuroo’s mercy completely. All he could think about what would happen if he didn’t pick up the call after ignoring his mom's texts from earlier. She would immediately know something was amiss and panic. The last thing he wanted right now was her suspecting the worst.

“Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna let you blab to mommy and have her call the police for you.” Kuroo rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t fucking born yesterday.”

Kei grew increasingly desperate as the phone kept ringing. “Please, I swear I won’t. I’ll do whatever you want afterwards, but I have to answer. If I don’t, she actually _will_ call the police.”

The distress in Kei’s voice seemed genuine, dampening Kuroo’s resolve. His grip loosened across Kei’s shoulders. “Geez, over-protective much?”

“Yes, exactly,” he agreed. “So let me go. Please, before it goes to voicemail. I promise I won’t fight you anymore and we’ll sort out this mess properly. But I need to let her know I’m okay.”

“Fine,” Kuroo relented, releasing Kei from his hold. “But don’t try anything stupid.”

Kei nodded in compliance as he retrieved the phone. Taking a deep breath, he tried his best to feign composure.

“Hey mom.”

Kuroo couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, only Kei’s responses and affirmations. It was fascinating, though. The blonde’s demeanor had shifted entirely. Gone was the frustration, fear, and stubborn impertinence, instead replaced by a convincing repose. From behind, Kuroo studied his even body language, shoulders relaxed and fingers tracing mindless circles on the counter as spoke. He could practically hear the flippant smile in his voice.

“No, nothing’s wrong…I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up with a couple friends after class…yeah, just had dinner…soba…yes, I _am_ eating properly. I just wasn’t that hungry tonight…school’s got me stressed, it’s no big deal.”

Only as Kuroo listened to Kei string together lies like it was nothing, effortlessly dispelling his mother’s concern, did he finally begin to understand how this person operated. Attempting (quite successfully, he might add) to seduce a member of the yakuza just to steal their gun was radical behavior for most. But Kei seemed well acquainted with deceit. Growing up with such overbearing parents hadn’t necessarily made him more behaved. It just made him clever, albeit in a roundabout way. 

Perhaps he had more in common with that dirtbag brother of his than he realized. Speaking of...

"Akiteru? No, I haven't heard from him recently...why?" It was subtle, but there was a slight quiver in Kei's voice at the mention of his older sibling. "Since last night? Well, I don't think you shouldn't worry," he tried to reassure. "You know how he is, always disappearing suddenly and then resurfacing a few days later. I'm sure he just forgot to charge his phone...I mean, I'll try calling him, but you know he doesn't pick up for me..."

It was obvious that Kei didn't believe the hollow words coming from his mouth. For all he knew, Akiteru was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. But there was no way he could tell his mom that.

There was a long pause on Kei’s end, before he said, “Yeah, will do...alright...love you too,” and hung up.

And just like that, the show was over. Kei’s shoulders fell. He let out a long sigh as he put the phone down. Any remaining strength in his body had been sapped by that conversation and finally, as he’d just finished a marathon, Kei dropped to his knees in relief.

“I see you have no problem lying to your parents," Kuroo observed, staring down at him. “Makes me wonder why you won’t just ask them for the money.”

Kei lacked the energy to snap back with something clever. “She’s already been through the wringer with my brother, as you can imagine. I’m not gonna put her or my father through that shit again,” he admitted.

Kuroo raised his brows and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “How noble,” he remarked dryly.

Kei turned on his knees to look up at him. His expression was one of pure defeat; a much less endearing cast than that enticing confidence that formerly colored his aura. The pathetic sight stirred something in Kuroo’s chest, but he didn’t care to reckon that emotion right now, so he stowed it away to deal with at a later date.

“Not really,” Kei admitted. “It’s actually pretty selfish. If they knew that Akiteru roped me into this mess, they’d never trust me again. I’d be forced to move back home.”

“And you’d rather handle this yourself than let them worry about you?”

Kei let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’ve obviously never had over-protective parents.”

“No, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Kuroo agreed, his jaw clenched. “I never knew my parents.”

Kei’s gaze dropped back to the floor. “Oh...sorry.”

Kei didn't know why he apologized. A reflex, perhaps? He certainly didn't _feel_ sorry. Rather, he felt a morbid desire to laugh. The whole thing was just too cliche: an orphan turned yakuza, like something out of a bad drama. 

Before Kei could prod for details, Kuroo changed the subject. "It seems like your parents are already looking for Akiteru. Do let me know if they find him." It was less a request and more a demand. Kei inhaled sharply.

His mother’s concern was a painful reminder of what really was at stake here. Akiteru was currently missing, having fled a two million yen debt with the yakuza. While Kei was furious to be left to handle his mess alone, he was also terrified of what would happen if his brother resurfaced, alive or otherwise.

“If you do find him,” he began quietly, "what will happen?”

Kuroo just shrugged, uncaring. “You’ll be off the hook, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No,” Kei pressed. “I mean, you won’t…hurt him, will you?”

Kuroo opened his mouth to respond, but stopped, letting his silence answer Kei’s question instead.

 _Of course they would_. They’re the fucking yakuza, and Akiteru had broken his contract. Kei felt stupid for even asking. The fact that Akiteru had let the situation get this bad did not bode well for either of them. He felt his stomach churn, imagining the worst case scenario: making that painful call home, the sound of his mother crying...

Kei let out a sigh of resignation. “Stop looking for him.”

Kuroo’s dark eyes narrowed, waiting for an explanation.

“As promised, I’ve had time to think it through,” Kei continued, standing back up, “and I’ve decided that I’m going to handle Akiteru’s debt myself. I’ll take over his contract and get you the money, so long as you swear to leave him alone.”

To Kei’s surprise, Kuroo did not immediately jump at the offer, despite his earlier impatience. 

“Don’t be stupid, kid," he advised. "Pulling that martyr crap won’t mean shit to anyone, least of all Akiteru."

"What do _you_ know?" Kei challenged.

“I know he's scumbag who’s only skill is using people," Kuroo replied. "Trust me - whatever he gets is what he deserves.”

“He’s my _brother,_ " Kei snapped, golden eyes blazing. "Besides, I’m not doing this just for Akiteru's sake. He’s put my parents through enough already; if something bad were to happen to him...it'd be too much for them to handle.”

For some strange reason, Kei's stubbornness annoyed Kuroo. He stifled the minor grievance, however, knowing it was illogical. This moment was what he’d been after all along. What did it matter to him if Kei wanted to saddle himself permanently with this debt? He’d get his money regardless.

Kei walked over to his bookshelf and retrieved a fountain pen from the top ledge. He then extended a hand out to Kuroo.

“The contract.”

Kuroo produced the piece of paper from the side pocket of his jacket. Kei took it from his hand and read over the terms carefully, and quietly. At the bottom, he traced his fingers over his brother’s messy signature, before crossing it out. Akiteru always had terrible penmanship. Below it, Kei wrote his own name and the date in a comparably elegant script.

“Here,” he said finally, handing the paper back to Kuroo.

Kuroo looked over the contract, staring at Kei's signature for a few seconds too long.

"Something wrong?" Kei asked, crossing his arms stubbornly. His impatience stirred Kuroo to attention.

The latter cleared his throat, folding the paper back up and slipping it into his jacket pocket. "No, everything's in order."

Kei's eyes followed him as walked to the door. Kuroo grabbed the handle, but stalled. He then turned back around to face Kei directly, his gaze ghosting over him.

"This should be obvious, but don't try to run off like your brother. Empty threats aside, I won't hesitate to actually hurt you, if you give me good reason."

Somewhere in his mind, Kei registered the warning. Outwardly, however, he blew it off. "Are you done?"

"Almost."

Kuroo suddenly grabbed Kei by the back of his neck and pulled him in for one last, cathartic kiss. Kei's knees nearly buckled at the sudden gesture. He found himself briefly swept up in the heat, intoxicated by the overwhelming sweetness of Kuroo's cologne, before jolting to his senses.

Kei pushed Kuroo off, stumbling backwards in his retreat. The latter managed to steady him though, alight with smug satisfaction at Kei's shock. Payback, for earlier.

"I'll be back in a month to collect the first payment," he said, and then whispered in Kei's ear, "Let's do this again, yeah?"

Kei didn't hesitate to shove him away the second time. "Get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Pleasure doing business with-"

Kei slammed the door in his face before he could finish.

* * *

As promised, Kuroo returned exactly one month later.

The complex's elevator was still broken, so Kei was forced to trek up the ten flights of stairs after his night class, only to be greeted by those sharp amber eyes.

"Yo, Tsukishima-kun."

Kuroo's back was to his door. He had been smoking when Kei arrived, taking one last drag of his cigarette, before stamping it out on the ground. Kei hadn't realized he smoked. Maybe that's what all the cologne was attempting to hide. He tried to remember if Kuroo's lips had tasted like tobacco when they kissed. Kei then chided himself for unearthing that memory after desperately trying to bury it.

October's arrival had been punctuated by a wet, dreary cold spell. To protect against the frigid air, Kuroo wore a tan wool trench coat over his suit and and black leather gloves. Kei too had bundled himself in a puffy thermal jacket and thick scarf. 

"Welcome home," Kuroo bid as Kei approached him.

Kei pursed his lips. _Why does he look so damn happy?_

"How long have you been waiting outside my apartment?" Kei asked, retrieving his keys from his pocket. Kuroo moved out of his way.

"Not too long," he assured.

Kei merely hummed in response. He put the key in the lock and opened the door, entering first to turn on the lights. Kuroo followed him in, only to stop dead in his tracks at the entrance.

The last time he was here, the studio apartment had been sparsely furnished, which was expected of a poor college student. Now, however, it was completely bare. The only signs of inhabitance were the futon folded in the corner and a lonely stack of textbooks. Everything else was gone: the bookshelf lined with well-worn novels and precious trinkets, the records and the record player, the table and chairs - everything. If Kuroo cared to search through the closet, bathroom, and pantry, he would find that those too were near-empty, populated only by the bare necessities.

Kuroo was at a loss for words, mouth hanging open at the sight.

"Here," Kei said, practically shoving an envelope into Kuroo's chest. "500,000 yen, as promised. Now get the hell out."

"Hold on a second," Kuroo said, needing a moment to comprehend the situation. "Don't tell me, you sold everything?"

Kei looked at Kuroo as if he were stupid. "Obviously," he said as he shrugged off his backpack and dropped it next to the pile of textbooks. He then peeled off his winter coat and scarf, hanging them alongside the rest of his scant wardrobe. 

Kuroo couldn't believe his blasé attitude. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Kei cast him a scathing glare. "Is that some kind of joke?"

Apparently not. Kuroo genuinely couldn't understand the way Kei's brain worked. This kid had parents - people he could _rely_ on - yet he refused to ask for help, instead choosing to pawn off nearly all his material belongings for little payoff. It didn't make any sense.

Kei realized that Kuroo wasn't satisfied with his answer, so he further explained, "Picking up extra shifts wasn't enough to cover this month's payment. Besides, it's not a big deal. I can live without most of that junk anyway." 

"There's a difference between things you _can_ live without and things you _should_ live without," Kuroo clarified. That dreadful feeling from before was creeping it's way back into his chest, and this time he struggled to fight it off. "You do realize that this is only the first of four payments, right? I'll be back same time next month for-"

Kuroo suddenly cut himself off, studying Kei with renewed intensity. 

"...what?" Kei asked.

"Have you lost weight?" 

Kei's height and inconsistent diet lent to an already lean frame. From the way his sweater and jeans hung loosely now, however, Kuroo could tell that he was skinnier than before.

Kei looked down at himself in surprise, as if he'd barely noticed the change. "Maybe, I'm not sure."

"Are you eating properly?"

"What are you, my mom?" Kei asked with an air of humor. He didn't seem nearly as concerned with the weight-loss as Kuroo.

Kuroo ignored his question and moved closer to properly inspect him. Driven by instinct and memory, Kei took a fearful step back, trying to maintain a considerable distance between them. Though it wasn't reflected in careless way he spoke, Kei was still very much wary of Kuroo, and for good reason.

Kuroo choose to ignore his skittish body language. "Are you starving yourself to save money?" He pressed. He spoke like a parent who caught their child in a lie.

Truly, Kei resented how perceptive this man was.

It was exactly as he said. Kei had restricted himself to eating just one daily meal, usually opting for something cheap and filling. The past month had encompassed a lot of high calorie ramen and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Such a unhealthy diet had taken a sufficient toll on his health, beyond the weight-loss. It'd been weeks since he had a restful night's sleep, kept awake by the nagging hunger. Moreover, his anxiety had hit an all-time high.

Kei would never admit that to anyone, however, least of all Kuroo.

"You know," he began in a sharp tone, "for someone who claims he doesn't care where the money comes from, you seem to ask a lot of questions. Such a habit seems counter-productive for your line of work."

Kuroo clicked his tongue, annoyed. It was true - all this pushing and prodding was really out of character. Kuroo couldn't rationalize it either. This kid just had a way of getting under his skin.

Rather than responding to Kei's observation, Kuroo decided to actually do his job properly. He turned his attention to the envelope, counting the money silently, ensuring that it was indeed the correct amount. Kei just stood in the center of his barren apartment, arms crossed, waiting.

When he'd finished, Kuroo tucked the envelope in his coat pocket. "Before I go, can I ask one more question?" 

"What does it matter if I say no? You'll ask it regardless," Kei countered. He wasn't wrong.

"Have you heard anything from Akiteru in the past month?"

The inquiry set Kei on high alert. He visibly bristled. "I thought we agreed that you would leave him alone."

"Relax, kid. It's not like that," Kuroo promised. "I'm just curious."

Kei eyed him suspiciously, before saying, "No one has heard anything from him yet."

Kei was telling the truth, though he would have said the same thing even if Akiteru had resurfaced. He didn't trust Kuroo to keep his word.

"I see. That's a shame, then. I was hoping you'd hear from him by now."

"Why do you care, anyway? Weren't you the one who said 'he should get what he deserves'?" 

Kuroo clenched his jaw. Indeed, he'd said that, and meant it. But despite what Kei might think, Kuroo wasn't a complete heartless monster. He might loathe Akiteru for bailing on his debt, but that didn't mean he held the same vitriol for Kei, who only wanted to protect his older brother. If anything, he pitied the kid, stubborn as all hell and determined to handle everything alone. His actions might have been admirable, if they weren't so incredibly stupid and naive.

"You're right, I don't care what happens to him," Kuroo said after a while, though his expression contradicted his cold regard. 

Kei hadn't known Kuroo long - hell, this was only their second time meeting. But somehow he recognized that expression. He'd seen glimpses of before, when Kuroo spoke of his job and his parents. It was distant and resigned, as if Kuroo knew some truth of life that Kei had yet to experience for himself.

Those amber eyes shifted suddenly, falling to the floor and following the grain of hardwood. Kuroo's volume dropped too, before relenting, "But you clearly do, so I just..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish that statement.

There was an unspoken weight to his words, something that neither party wanted to acknowledge.

"He'll turn up eventually," Kuroo said after a while.

Was he trying to offer comfort? It was laughable. Moreover, it was suffocating. Kei felt his heart race in an all-too familiar way. He tried his best to swallow his nerves, and steady his shaking hands. His instinct was to deny it. He wanted nothing more than to be impassive, to pretend like he wasn't worried sick every time his mom called, expecting her to confirm his worst fear. But the words caught in his throat. In the end, all he could do was nod.

They stood paralyzed in weighted-silence, until Kuroo finally broke it. "I can't say I understand you, Tsukishima-kun. Nor do I think what you're doing is very smart. But...in the very least, I think you're a good brother. Better than what Akiteru deserves."

Kei turned his face to the side, knowing whatever face he bore now would reveal too much. He forced out a haughty laugh. "I don't need you to tell me that."

Kuroo chuckled along with him. "You really aren't cute at all."

He walked to the door and Kei ushered him out, but not before Kuroo turned one last time. "I'll be back-"

"-in another month, yeah, I got it," Kei finished impatiently.

Kuroo allowed himself a wry smile. As he stepped outside, he added, "Make sure you're eating properly, dumbass."

"Would you please _leave_ already?"

"Don't miss me too much-"

Kei slammed the door before he could finish, again.

* * *

There was a knock at Kei's door later that same night. Rather than opening it carelessly this time, however, Kei took Kuroo's advice to use the chain lock. He cracked the door just wide enough to see who was outside.

"Delivery for Tsukishima Kei."

It only took one glance to determine the man wasn't a threat. He stood dressed in a red and white striped polo peaking out from underneath a thick black parka. On his head, he wore a matching baseball cap embellished with the cartoon logo of some restaurant chain. Kei glanced down at his hands, which were taken up by a large pizza box. Heat steamed off the top of the cardboard, condensing in the cold October air.

"I...I'm sorry but I didn't order anything."

The man seemed confused. He checked the apartment number as confirmation, before asking, "Are you Tsukishima Kei?"

Kei nodded. 

"Then there's no mistake, sir."

Kei didn't understand, until he recalled Kuroo's parting words from earlier.

"That bastard..." He cursed under his breath. Kei undid the chain and opened the door completely. "Hold on one second, I need to grab my wallet."

"Oh, no need, sir. It's already been paid for," the man said amicably. He handed the box to Kei. "Have a good night!"

Kei stood in quiet surprise, watching as the delivery man disappeared in his building's stairwell. His attention then fell to the box now warming his hands. The scent wafting up was enticing to say the least. Even if Kei hadn't been starving himself for the past month, his mouth would still be watering.

Kei closed the door and set the pizza down on the floor, as he no longer had a table to eat at. He sat down in front of the box, legs crossed and arms folded, considering it. 

As much as he loathed the idea of receiving a handout like this, he couldn't very well throw the pizza away. That would be a waste of perfectly good food...right? Besides, it wasn't like this changed anything about their dynamic. Kuroo was just some asshole extorting him for cash. No amount of free food would erase that.

Kei opened the box and pulled out a slice. It was pepperoni.

"Fuck it," he said before taking a bite.


	4. I don't appreciate handouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for brief mention of suicide and fairly graphic violence
> 
> also thank you for being patient. work has started back up, so I'll probably be reduced to posting just one chapter a week. 
> 
> enjoy :-)

Kuroo was very good at his job.

It many ways, collecting people's debts was his calling, as it catered to his innate conviction and ruthlessness.

It also required a surprising amount of intuition. While holding debtors accountable took up most of his time, it wasn't the only part of the job description. Kuroo also spent his days swindling hapless fools into high-interest deals, preying upon their financial weakness. Not to mention, he had often found himself talking desperate strangers off a ledge, metaphorically and literally.

Both tasks required keen situational awareness, the latter leaving little room for error. But Kuroo was confident. He'd honed his skills through experience - seven years of it. For him, posturing and intimidation were as easy and natural as breathing.

Even so, in this line of work, success was never guaranteed. Every action was a gamble, no matter how benign. People did stupid, irrational things when they were cornered by life and Kuroo was an outlet for their fear. Regardless of how practiced he was, there were still some instances in which missteps occurred.

Today happened to be one days.

It began innocently enough. Another month had come and gone already and Kuroo intended to collect the second payment from Kei later that evening. He was looking forward to it, though not for any special reason. He was simply curious to see what that crafty son of a bitch would come up with this time. 

Before could could drop by Kei's apartment, however, Kuroo had several stops he needed to make first. Two of them were routine payments, nothing he couldn't handle. The third, however, would give him trouble: a divorced salaryman with a serious gambling addiction. He still owed Kuroo upwards of four million yen, and had been late with the last two payments. 

"The excuses come easy with this one," Kuroo informed his colleague when they arrived to the man's residence. "Let me do the talking, Lev."

The tall man beside him nodded in deference.

Lev was a new member, a half-Japanese, half-Russian punk they'd picked up off the street. He stood nearly a head taller than Kuroo, despite being several years younger. He wasn't very sharp, nor did he have the best instincts. But his imposing height and broad stature were useful tools for the yakuza. Though he typically preferred to work alone, Kuroo would often take Lev along on his more dangerous jobs to act as an unspoken threat.

For some debtors, having that added muscle looming behind Kuroo was enough to keep them in line. For others, it only served as provocation. Kuroo was typically good at discerning which of the two parties his clients fell into. But this time, he'd made a critical mistake.

The man was intoxicated, restive, and far beyond reason. With a kitchen knife in hand, he had lunged at Lev the second he saw him.

Kuroo moved without thought, shoving his underling out of the way and inadvertently catching the blade himself. It lodged in his left shoulder, sticking out even as the man released his hold.

"Fuck!" Kuroo cursed, stumbling against the wall. They should have approached the man with more caution, he knew that. But he'd been eager to wrap things up in anticipation for...what exactly? What had made him so careless?

"Aniki!" Lev knelt by his superior's side, but Kuroo was quick to disregard his concern.

"I'm fine! Restrain him," he barked.

Lev nodded, following Kuroo's instructions duly, but not before delivering several brutal, vindictive blows to the man's face. He pleaded for mercy beneath Lev, but his cries were quickly cut out by a sharp tone ringing in Kuroo's ear. The pain had disoriented him, his vision blurring as he looked down at the wound. Blood was already beginning to seep through and stain his clothes.

"Goddamnit," he grit, "I really liked this suit."

* * *

Kuroo should have felt relieved that the knife missed his vitals. Hell, after a stupid mistake like that, he should have felt lucky to be alive. But in truth, Kuroo was more annoyed than anything else. The knife wound hadn't been life-threatening after all, just _extremely_ painful and inconvenient. 

"I'm going to pull it out on the count of three," Iwaizumi warned. 

Kuroo bit down on a towel to keep from screaming, squeezing his eyes shut to brace for the agony.

"One...two..."

Iwaizumi wrenched the broken blade out in one swift motion. Kuroo clenched down so hard that his teeth nearly split the fabric.

"...three."

"Fuck you," Kuroo snarled, spitting the towel from his mouth. "That was on purpose."

"Maybe."

Kuroo sat with his shirt off on the edge of stainless steel table, shadowed by a paper curtain and stationed at the center of a claustrophobic room. The space possessed a cold and clinical feel, with tiled floors and stark white walls. The sterile smell of alcohol hung in the air like a dead weight. Strewn across the counters were a wide assortment of medical tools, everything from tiny scalpels to bone saws fit for limb amputation.

The entire thing looked like the base operation for an illegal organ trade. In reality, it wasn't too far off from that.

Iwaizumi examined the blood-soaked blade pinched between pliers. The knife had been sharp, yet brittle. It snapped in half when Kuroo had first tried to pull it out himself, leaving the tip lodged in his muscle.

"You're one lucky bastard," Iwaizumi remarked casually, voice muffled behind a medical mask. He dropped the fractured blade on an adjacent emergency cart, setting down the pliers beside it. "This thing could have easily punctured a lung or an artery. You would have bled out in less than a minute."

"I'm bleeding out _now_ , doctor," Kuroo snapped.

"Stop bein' such a baby," he snapped right back, not one to take shit from anyone, least of all some criminal.

Kuroo breathed deeply in an attempt to control the pain. "You really ought to work that bedside manner of yours," he advised, though his attempt at humor was quickly cut off by a low groan.

Iwaizumi applied light pressure as he began disinfecting the wound and treating it with antibiotics. The sting of irritated flesh hurt almost as much as the blade itself.

"I don't talk like this with my other patients, just you."

Iwaizumi was, by all means, a legitimate medical professional. But his route to certification had been an unconventional one. He'd gone through medical school and eventually opened his own practice on the yakuza's dime. They offered to pay for his education with one stipulation: Iwaizumi would work for them - inconspicuously, of course.

On the surface, he operated an unassuming walk-in clinic, where the general public was free to receive high-quality and affordable treatment. Residing just below the waiting room, however, was a hidden basement, modified as a make-shift trauma center and reserved only for members of the yakuza. Iwaizumi would treat their men for anything from severed fingers to broken limbs and even the occasional gunshot wound, no questions asked and no reports filed. In return, they supplied him with a monthly allowance to help cover any additional expenses.

"So," Iwaizumi began, "what happened?"

Per the agreement, Iwaizumi was careful not to ask too many questions when a patient arrived. All he needed were the details of the emergency and a brief health history. Anything else was superfluous, and risked involving him in something dangerous. 

The only time when Iwaizumi violated this hard-set boundary was when knew the patient personally, as he did Kuroo. In those instances, the lines between professionalism and genuine concern would blur.

The two had been acquaintances in high school, before Kuroo eventually dropped out and disappeared. The elusive delinquent didn't resurface until three years later, where he and Iwaizumi reunited by chance at a bar. At that point, Kuroo had already entrenched himself with the yakuza. Iwaizumi wasn't the kind to be put off by anything, however, especially not someone else's life choices. The two decided to catch up over drinks, where Iwaizumi confessed his struggles to pay off medical school. Kuroo offered to connect him with his people, and the rest was history. 

"I fucked up," Kuroo said in a strained voice. "Nearly got Lev killed."

"That poor kid. He was pale as a sheet when he brought you in."

Kuroo shook his head. "I know. It's my fault. I should have gone alone."

"Well, at least you protected him," Iwaizumi relented, his voice distant as he focused on the wound. He turned in his seat, retrieving a collection of suturing instruments before returning to open gash.

"This is going to hurt," he said frankly.

Kuroo tried to put up a tough front. "Can't be any worse than what I've endured so far."

Wrong. It was _far_ worse. Kuroo sunk his teeth into his right knuckle to keep a string of profanity from escaping his lips.

"Don't move around so much. And don't bite your hand," Iwaizumi nagged, handing Kuroo the towel again. "You'll just end up giving me more work."

Kuroo reluctantly did as was told, sticking the fabric back in his mouth, trying to focus on anything other than torment being inflicted on his shoulder.

As Iwaizumi methodically stitched up the wound, there was a light knock at the door.

"It's fine, you can come in, babe," Iwaizumi invited, knowing only one other person had access to this room.

Peeking tentatively around the corner was a handsome young man with chestnut hair, dressed in a light green sweater and tan slacks. Kuroo recognized him as Iwaizumi's fiancé and the clinic receptionist, Oikawa. He was careful to not disturb his partner's concentration, keeping his voice soft and even as he spoke.

"Iwa-chan, a patient just checked in and is waiting in room 1B. I told them you'd be with them in a few minutes," he informed, his gaze cast down. Ironic to their shared practice, Oikawa was incredibly squeamish. He hated the sight of blood.

Iwaizumi stopped suturing long enough to check the time. "We're closing soon, you know that."

"But-" Oikawa looked up, and then immediately regretted the action, for his brown eyes had connected with Kuroo's mangled shoulder. He closed them reflexively, before continuing, "-it's a cute little girl, and she's got an ear infection. The poor thing seems like she's in a lot of pain."

Iwaizumi sighed, knowing he couldn't win. "Alright," he agreed, returning to the stitches with renewed focus. "Tell them I'll be done in ten minutes."

Oikawa beamed triumphantly, before leaving to do just that. After he was out of earshot, Kuroo laughed through his pain.

"You're so soft," he said, fully intending it as an insult. Iwaizumi didn't take it as one.

"Yeah, maybe."

It took a little longer than ten minutes, but Iwaizumi was diligent with his work. When he finished with the stitches, he wrapped Kuroo's shoulder in cotton and gauze.

"Steady now," he breathed, helping Kuroo back to his feet. Iwaizumi retrieved the blood-stained clothing that Kuroo had arrived in, guiding his injured arm through the sleeve of his shirt, followed by his jacket, careful to avoid the tender flesh. 

Once Kuroo was fully dressed, he glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Shit, it really is late."

Iwaizumi nodded, peeling off his gloves and tossing them in a red medical waste basket with practiced aim. He stood over the sink and began washing his hands.

"I'll have Tooru schedule a follow-up for some time next month. Until then, make sure you take it easy, Mr. Workaholic."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'm not joking, Tetsurou. It won't heal if you don't tend to it properly." Iwaizumi turned from the sink and took off his mask. The corners of his lips were turned down, laden with concern. Both of them knew he only used Kuroo's first name to provoke undivided attention. Otherwise, it rarely left his lips. He continued, "Change the dressing daily, and don't strain the muscle too much."

Kuroo didn't reply, his mind already returning to work. He wondered if he still had enough time to swing by Kei's apartment. It was indeed late, but he needed to make good on his word and maintain a consistent presence.

"Do you have some who can take you home? It's not a good idea to drive in your current state."

"Nah, I'll just take a taxi."

"Are you sure? If you hang around here for another half hour, Tooru and I can drop you off on our way home."

"You want me to third wheel with you and your fiancé? No thank you." Kuroo smirked lightly, only teasing in his disregard. He appreciated the offer. "Besides, I'm not headed back quite yet. I've got some unfinished business to attend to."

Iwaizumi seemed genuinely upset by this. "What did I just say about taking it easy? You need to go home and rest. Need I remind, you've just been _stabbed_." 

But his protestation fell on deaf ears, for Kuroo was fully ignoring him now. He exited through the back door of the basement, ascending an underground staircase that opened to the alley beside the clinic. Behind him, Iwaizumi warned of working to an early grave.

Perhaps there was some truth to that. Kuroo was notorious among his kind for never taking a day off.

No rest for the wicked, as they say.

* * *

Every few minutes, Kei's eyes would steal another glance at the door, anxious and expectant. _Where the hell was he?_

It wasn't like he wanted Kuroo to show up - quite the opposite. If he had the option of never seeing that infuriating mug again, he'd take it without hesitation. But the ambiguity was killing him; unease pooled in his gut with each passing second.

Kei felt nervous around Kuroo regardless of context, but today his feelings were particularly pronounced. Another month had passed, which meant another payment was upon him. For the past thirty days, he'd ground himself to the bone to meet it. Despite being a full-time student, Kei upped his work week from twenty hours to an unsustainable forty, taking a brutal triple shift at the coffee house. His friends were beginning to ask questions, even his manager was growing concerned, and Kei was quickly running out of excuses to stave off their inquiry.

Worse yet, he was still 5,000 yen short.

It was a comparably small sum. He hoped Kuroo would overlook it, so long as he promised to make it up in next month's payment. But that man was a wildcard to say the least, friendly one minute, and merciless the next. Kei couldn't fathom how he would react.

He was stationed over the stove, minding a simmering pan of chicken, onion, and various seasoning. Once the chicken was thoroughly cooked, he slowly drizzled a beaten egg mixture overtop, before covering it with a lid. At that same moment, there was a knock at Kei's door - three hard raps.

Kuroo.

Kei's heart leapt from his chest and his hand reflexively gripped the edge of the counter. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing himself a brief moment of calm, before finally striding to the door. It's better to rip the bandaid off, he reminded himself, than to draw this out any further.

"You're late," Kei said as he opened the door. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't..." His voice trailed off as he took in the dismal appearance of the man before him.

Kei had only ever seen Kuroo in a clean, confident, and meticulous state. Therefore, the current dishevelment of his clothing went beyond uncharacteristic - it was alarming. His complexion, too, was pale and sunken, as if he'd been stricken ill. And that was before Kei noticed the...

"Blood," he whispered. A hand instinctively reached out to touch the, now dried, crimson stain peeking out from up his coat.

"Something smells good," Kuroo said, brushing away Kei's hand. He stepped inside the warmth of the apartment, eager to escape the nighttime air. "What are you making?"

Kei hadn't heard his question. He was still fixated on the color red. There'd been so much...

"Who's blood is that?" He asked quietly.

Kuroo had the gall to ignore him again. He toured through Kei's desolate apartment like it was the first time he'd seen it, letting his eyes wander anywhere but back to Kei. "I see you're still under the thrall of minimalism." It was a tasteless joke.

"Whose blood is that?" Kei repeated, louder and more desperate this time. His fists started to shake at his side.

Kuroo sighed, realizing that Kei wouldn't drop this so easily. "It's mine, dammit. Now would you please close the door? You're letting in a draft."

But Kei didn't budge. "What happened?"

Kuroo rolled his eyes, as if the concern shadowing Kei's expression was nothing more than a burden to him. In many ways, it was. He shot him a condescending look. "Do you _really_ want to know?"

Kei realized he didn't, for it was none of his business. This was the true nature of the yakuza, after all. To join them was to risk one's life. Whatever that bastard had suffered was nothing more than a symptom of his poor choices - in Kuroo's own words, he had gotten what he deserved. 

And yet, Kei couldn't ignore the overwhelming tightness of his chest. Nor could he suppress his instincts, which compelled him to ask, "Are...you alright?"

In that moment, Kuroo wondered if Kei was aware of the expression he bore. It was a familiar one, taking form whenever there was mention of Akiteru or Kei's parents. His eyes glimmered with fraught sincerity, giving way to something earnest and fragile. Kuroo though about how nice it would be if Kei only ever looked at him like that. 

Kuroo then banished that idea from his mind, knowing how dangerous it was.

Kuroo returned to the door and closed it himself. He then flashed a convincing grin, intent on burying what ever this was, here and now.

"Never better, darling. Let's return to business, shall we?"

Kei didn't believe him, of course. Kuroo's pathetic appearance betrayed him. It was almost laughable that he'd even try to put up a front, looking the way he did. But who was Kei to push the matter? Kuroo clearly didn't want to talk, and Kei shouldn't care to begin with.

After a moment of hesitation, Kei dropped his line of inquiry. He returned to the stovetop and checked on his dinner.

"I'm making Oyakodan," Kei said, circling back to Kuroo's question from earlier.

Kuroo hummed, content with the change in topic. "Glad to see you're actually eating."

The beaten egg had cooked nearly completely, leaving just the inside as soft and runny. Kei turned off the burner, before pulling out a bowl and filling it with rice. He then had a flashback to their first meeting, and the meal they shared.

"I'd offer you some, but I only made one serving," he explained.

"No worries, I already had dinner." That was a lie, Kuroo's hadn't eaten a thing since this morning. But it felt wrong to take Kei's food while he was struggling for cash.

Kei's eyes lingered, not totally satisfied with Kuroo's answer. As much as he tried to ignore Kuroo's appearance, it was difficult not to notice the hints of strain in his movements. He looked like he was hurting, bad. "Do you want something to drink? Tea? Water?"

"I'll be leaving shortly," Kuroo reminded him. "But I appreciate the offer, gracious host." Kuroo paused, thinking. "Although..."

"What?" Kei pressed, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"You got any booze? I'm dying for a drink."

Kei shouldn't have expected any different. He rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed by the request. After years of watching Akiteru struggle with his drinking problem, Kei had developed a deep disdain for alcohol. He didn't personally drink it, and avoided those who abused it. That being said, many of his college friends were casual drinkers and alcohol would sometimes end up in his possession by accident, left over from social gatherings. 

Kei retrieved a half-emptied bottle of whiskey that had been collecting dust at the back of his pantry. He handed it to Kuroo, who studied the label with mild surprise.

"I can't stand the stuff, so you're welcome to finish it off."

"This shit ain't cheap," Kuroo noted, twisting off the cap and lifting it to his lips. "For someone who doesn't like whiskey, you've got good taste."

Kei watched Kuroo take a swig, squeezing his eyes shut as the dark liquor slid down his throat. For the life of him, he couldn't understand the appeal. "I don't have any whiskey glasses, just regular drinking glasses. Also, there's ice if you want some."

Kuroo pulled the bottle from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm alright. Ice cuts the flavor anyway." Rancid as it was, the strong taste served as a good distraction from Kuroo's pain.

He leaned his back against the wall of Kei's apartment, careful not to hit the tender flesh of his shoulder. Not matter how steady he kept his movements, however, he couldn't stop himself from wincing slightly. Kei was quick to notice. He frowned.

"You look like death," he said flatly. It wasn't meant to be mean. If anything, the comment reflected his growing concern. But Kuroo laughed it off, further dodging his attempts at prying.

"Are you gonna eat, or what?" He nodded towards the steaming bowl of Oyakodan. 

Kei was indeed hungry. He'd stopped that "one meal a day" business after the last time Kuroo visited. As much as Kei hated to admit it, the bastard had been right. Eating so little was completely reckless and unsustainable. Kei went back to his normal diet and resolved himself to work extra hours to make up the financial loss.

"Oh yeah," Kei said between bites. "I forgot to mention this earlier, but don't ever order me food again. I don't appreciate handouts."

Kuroo cracked a grin as he took another sip of the whiskey, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Kei raised a skeptical brow at him, but didn't push it. If Kuroo wanted to pretend like nothing had happened, then fine, Kei would play his game...so long as he didn't try that shit again.

"It looks like you've gained some weight back," Kuroo said. His eyes took in Kei's stature. "That's good. You seem healthier."

 _Why do you even care?_ Kei wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue. He instead turned his focus to eating. It was rare for him to finish an entire meal in one sitting, but his appetite had returned in full force and Kei was quick to devour the comforting rice dish. It was good, and Kei allowed himself a small bit of pride in his cooking skills. He'd missed this.

Once he'd finished his meal, Kei promptly washed dishes and cleaned the kitchen, knowing such chores wouldn't get done later. As he busied himself with tidying, his mind returned to the debt. He'd have to tell Kuroo sooner or later...and sooner was better than later.

"I have the payment," he said once the kitchen was spotless.

Kuroo was nearly finished with the bottle at this point. He been oddly patient while Kei cleaned, content to just watch him, not once bringing up the money. The warmth of the apartment, as well as the warmth of the liquor, had set in. Though his shoulder still stung, the pain had grown distant and hazy.

"Let's see it then."

But Kei was hesitant to hand over the second envelope, knowing it wasn't the agreed upon amount. "I..." he began, but quickly trailed off, clutching the paper even tighter in his grip.

"Is there a problem?"

"I'm short," Kei said, ripping the bandaid off, as he intended.

Kuroo's expression was difficult to read. Kei couldn't infer clear emotion beyond his usual easy-going demeanor.

"By how much?"

Kei bit his lower lip, bracing himself for the worst. "5,000 yen."

Again, there was no discernible change in Kuroo's countenance. He considered Kei's confession briefly, before placing the now empty whiskey bottle on the ground, crossing the room, and taking the envelope from Kei. Wordlessly, he counted through the amount himself. Kei watched him, silent and anxious.

It took him only a few seconds to flip through the stack. Kuroo stuffed the money back in the envelope and stowed it in his jacket pocket. "I'm not sure what you're talking about; it's all there."

Kei's eyebrows furrowed. "No - that's not possible. I know for a fact there's..." He trailed off for a second time.

"It's all there," Kuroo repeated. He spoke with finality.

Slowly, the realization dawned. Kei's mouth hung open; he was speechless. Again, he wanted to ask Kuroo why - _why are you helping me like this?_ It didn't make any sense. His heart was racing, blood pumping, but it wasn't from nerves or fear this time. No...this time, Kei was angry.

"I thought I told you," he said, stepping closer, "that I don't appreciate handouts."

Kuroo felt unfazed by Kei's hostility. He even found it amusing, chuckling lightly. "Those are some bold words for someone who sold literally everything they own."

Kei's golden eyes narrowed. "What do you get out of this? Helping me like I'm some charity case..."

"What do I get?" Kuroo mused. "Nothing, I suppose, aside from some mild entertainment."

"Yeah, well I don't _need_ your help, nor do I want it."

Kuroo snorted. "You're a stubborn bitch. How did you even collect the money this time? It doesn't look like you're starving yourself." His mind felt hazy, but the words escaping his mouth were sharp and measured. "Don't tell me, did you finally swallow your pride and ask your parents for cash? Or did you take my advice and start selling your body?"

"That information doesn't concern you, does it?" Kei snapped.

"Oh? Don't tell me, did I hit the mark?" Kuroo was treating this like some game, though there was an added sting underlying his tone. "If you're gonna sleep around for cash, you should have called me. We could have picked up from last time."

"Fuck you," Kei spat. It always seemed to come to this. Without fail, the second Kuroo entered his orbit, they would collide, as if bickering was the inevitable outcome of their shared company.

"You want to," Kuroo shot back. In addition to numbing his pain, the whiskey had also removed his filter. "Don't bother denying it. We both know how desperately you came at me."

Kei's glare grew hotter, his fire fueled by Kuroo's suggestion. "That was a bluff." 

"A rather convincing one," Kuroo added, closing the distance between them. He didn't know why he chose to say these unpleasant things now, of all times. Something about Kei's stubborn refusal to accept his help had a way of getting under his skin. "Come on, you don't actually expect me to believe that whole thing was an act? No way in hell." Kei jumped when he felt Kuroo's right hand snake along his waist and grope his ass. "Don't lie, Tsukishima-kun, you've imagined it - what would have happened if we kept going."

As he spoke, Kuroo had leaned in so close that Kei could see the details of his irises and smell the booze on his breath. The revolting, yet familiar scent was enough to push Kei over the edge.

"In your fucking dreams," he said, shoving Kuroo away from him. His skin was completely red, a mixture of indignant outrage and heat at Kuroo's suggestion.

His fury recoiled completely, however, when he witnessed Kuroo's expression contort in pain. He grabbed his left shoulder, letting out a guttural groan. The obvious distress completely washed away Kei's resentment. Once again, he found himself racked with concern.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I-" He tried to offer, but Kuroo waved his explanation away, shaking his head. 

"I deserved that," he admitted, clenching his jaw through the throbbing agony. No amount of whiskey could dull this surge of pain, for Kei had hit the wound directly. Kuroo hoped the stitches were still intact beneath the gauze.

God, Kuroo felt pathetic. Trying to provoke Kei like that was out of line. He was merely venting his frustrations on some kid. 

Kuroo sighed. He was exhausted from his day, overwhelmed by the physical pain, and unsteady on his feet from the booze. He reckoned he would have collapsed on the floor by now, had it not been for Kei's presence. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this weak. Worse of all was Kei's demeanor towards him: so troubled, and for what? Kuroo would be fine, he was always fine. Kei didn't need to look at him like that, with such sweet worry. It was so cute, and _so very dangerous._

"I should go," Kuroo said after a while, afraid of what would happen if he lingered any longer.

On any other day, Kei would have agreed. But sending Kuroo out into the cold night in his current condition would weigh heavily on his conscious, he knew. Kei might not have been the most warm or caring human being, but he did have a heart. And no matter how much he loathed Kuroo's provocations, he didn't want to feel responsible should something happen to him. 

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Kei said, stirring Kuroo's attention. "I really don't understand you, pretending like you care about me and offering to help, then saying gross shit on same breath. It's giving me whiplash. But..."

"But?"

"But you're obvious not okay right now," he continued, voice wavering slightly.

"And?" Kuroo pressed again when Kei's words faltered.

Kei crossed his arms, uncomfortable and uncertain. He had to push himself to get the last bit out. "And I'm saying you don't have to leave."

Kuroo quirked a brow at him, unsure of what he was suggesting. He didn't want to assume anything, but it sure as hell sounded like...

"To be clear, I am _not_ saying we should sleep together," Kei quickly added.

_Oh._

"But you look like shit, and as much as you infuriate me, I don't want you to actually get hurt or anything...so...." Kei couldn't finish his thought, distracted by the growing smile on Kuroo's lips. It wasn't his usual smug grin. Rather, this cast was gentle and fond. Kei swallowed a lump in his throat. "You don't have to, of course. I just thought I should offer."

"Thanks," Kuroo said, and meant it. Somehow, Kei always managed to surprise him, whether it was through his quick cunning, resourcefulness, or surprising kindness. Such an offer was more than Kuroo deserved, and he knew he should leave. But damn if Kei wasn't making this tiny apartment seem all the more inviting. 

"So...you'll stay?"

"If you'll let me," Kuroo replied.

He still didn't think this was a good idea. Kei's motivations were pure, but Kuroo knew from experience that even the most well-intentioned people could cause damage. If Kuroo wasn't careful, he would soon find himself succumbing to something truly painful, something far worse than any knife wound. He would allow himself to stay the night just this once, for he really was on the verge of collapse. But that would be the end of it.

It _had_ to be, or Kuroo might not come out of this arrangement unscathed.


	5. Nothing's going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience as always.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this chapter, it might just be the softest these dorks will ever get lol

"Here."

Kei offered Kuroo a spare cotton t-shirt and flannel pants.

Kuroo inspected Kei's outstretched hand, considering the implications. Spending the night in Kei's apartment was one thing, but borrowing his clothing was something else entirely. That kind of intimacy was reserved for lovers, people who actually cared about each other. In contrast, he and Kei were little more than strangers. "I'll be fine sleeping in my suit."

"Absolutely not," Kei persisted, eyes glancing pointedly at the red stain on Kuroo's shirt. "I don't want your blood soiling my white futon."

Kuroo clicked his tongue. Well, if that's what this was about, Kuroo supposed he could accept Kei's offer after all.

"Do you want to shower?" Kei asked once Kuroo took the clothing from his hands.

Kuroo shook his head. "I'm alright."

Kei cast his eyes down in an effort not to stare as Kuroo slipped off his suit jacket. Such a task proved difficult, however, for curiosity nagged him; he desperately wanted to know where that blood had come from.

Eventually, his self-control lapsed and Kei stole a glance in Kuroo's direction. The latter was still facing the other way, and therefore didn't notice as Kei's eyes lingered. His chest was completely bare, freed from the blood-soaked button down, revealing a tapestry of ink underneath.

Kei's attention was enraptured by the tattoos decorating Kuroo's body - a brand of yakuza membership. The elaborate design cut off only at his elbows, ankles, and down the center of his chest, so as to remain hidden from the rest of the world. Vibrant colors contrasted against the black base and coalesced to form one large, intricate arrangement. Kei only caught glimpses of the fine details, but he noted that the focal point was a light green oni mask, centered between Kuroo's shoulder blades. The devilish face was cradled by a wreath of red and orange peony flowers.

Kei wouldn't call the design beautiful. The craftsmanship was painstaking and objectively well-done, but Kei couldn't find the beauty in something so treacherous. Such markings were a sign of Kuroo's gang affiliation, and a constant reminder of the barrier separating their respective worlds.

Kei had been so caught up in the tattoos that he almost didn't notice the gauze wrapped around Kuroo's left shoulder. Before he could get a good look at the damage, Kuroo had already begun pulling the t-shirt over his head. Kei averted his eyes a second time when Kuroo stalled, groaning as he forced his injured arm through the sleeve.

"Thank you, by the way," Kuroo said, once he had finished pulling on the flannel pants.

Kei's gaze lifted back up and studied Kuroo's new appearance. Though they shared the same height, Kuroo was comparably more muscular. To accommodate this difference, Kei had selected clothing that fit loosely on his frame. Even still, the worn t-shirt and pants clung closely to Kuroo's body.

It was odd, seeing him in such casual garb. The tattoos were still visible, peeking out on his exposed forearms. And yet somehow, Kuroo appeared softer now. The jagged edges of his crisp suit jacket had tapered into the subtle, downward slope of his shoulders. His unruly dark hair too had smoothed over, pressing flat against his forehead. Even his eyes, usually so perceptive and severe, were dulled by the alcohol.

He was like a wild animal that had been declawed and domesticated for the night. The corner of Kei's lips quirked, amused at the thought.

"Don't thank me yet," he replied. "I've only got one futon."

"I'll take the floor. I don't mind," Kuroo said amicably. In truth, he was so drained from his long day and the whiskey that he truly would have been fine sleeping anywhere. 

Kei wouldn't listen though, stubborn as ever. "Your shoulder's fucked up. Sleeping without proper support will only make it worse."

Kuroo wanted to insist, but he feared provoking another bickering match. So instead, he flippantly asked, "Are we sharing then?" 

The question brought color to Kei's cheeks. He tried to remain outwardly unaffected. "Get your head out of the gutter."

"It's an honest question."

Kei began unfolding the futon, laying it over the tatami rug. Though it was designed with one person in mind, it could easily accommodate two bodies. In fact, Kei had already shared it multiple times before with Yamaguchi. It never felt weird to sleep next to his childhood best friend, whose heart Kei knew inside and out. They'd already seen each other at their ugliest and most vulnerable, so there was nothing left to be apprehensive about. In short, Kei trusted Yamaguchi.

Kuroo, on the other hand, was someone who Kei knew next to nothing about. Yet they weren't complete strangers either. "Strangers" was an easy dynamic to define; their relationship, in contrast, was unfathomable. Kuroo's tongue had been in Kei's mouth the same day he'd threatened to kill him. He lobbed insults like they were nothing, only to later commend him on being a good brother. He extorted him for money while also treating him to dinner. There wasn't a word to encompass the endless contradictions and nuances of their relationship. It couldn't fit one term, nor could it fit a single futon.

"If you're uncomfortable, I'll sleep on the floor," Kei said finally.

Kuroo pursed his lips. He wasn't uncomfortable. It was the opposite actually. Kuroo feared himself becoming _too_ comfortable with this arrangement.

"I didn't say that," Kuroo maintained. "But...shouldn't _you_ be a little more uncomfortable?"

Kei knelt down on the bed, straightening out his comforter. "Why? Nothing's going to happen."

Kuroo couldn't argue with that logic.

"I'm going to brush my teeth," Kei said once the bed had been made. He grabbed a t-shirt and shorts from his closet before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Kuroo alone in the apartment.

The momentary solitude welcomed with it a flood of doubt, which washed over Kuroo in sobering waves. _What the hell was he doing?_ Of the dumb decisions he'd made, this was by far the most reckless. Kei was one of his debtors. Sure, they'd almost fucked, but that was back when there was nothing; no context, no meaning. The sex would have been impulsive, satisfying, and easy to walk away from. 

But the moment had passed, and now Kuroo had found himself saddled with inconvenient empathy. As much as he would like to disregard Kei's plight and treat him like a normal client, he couldn't.

And that alone was terrifying.

* * *

When Kei had finished his nighttime routine, he emerged from the bathroom, teeth brushed and face washed. He quickly scanned the tiny apartment, only to realize that Kuroo was no where in sight. For a split second, Kei assumed that he had bailed. But then his golden eyes connected with the ajar terrace door.

"It's freezing," he said, stepping out to join Kuroo on the gated ledge. The latter was leaning against the railing, smoking and taking in the scenery. It was nearing midnight, yet the city's silhouette was alive as ever, overflowing with light pollution and ambient sound.

Kuroo ignored his comment, taking a drag of the cigarette before exhaling deeply. A white cloud escaped his lips, only to disappear in the wind. "The apartment's shitty, but it's got a decent view," he observed.

Kei was cold. His bare legs and arms were already covered in goosebumps. Despite this, he mimicked Kuroo's posture, resting his elbows against the iron rail, careful not to let their arms touch. "Yeah, it does," he agreed.

"From this far away, it doesn't look so bad," Kuroo continued. His eyes were fixed not on the row of skyscrapers, but rather on the bustling streets below. In the distance, motorcycle wheels tore asphalt, car horns sounded, and sirens blared. From a nearby complex came the steady thrum of muffled music. And beneath it all was the vague, yet consistent undercurrent of voices, hundreds of thousands of them. The city's song.

Kei studied Kuroo's expression - it was the same look of resignation from before. "Do you like living in the city?" He asked suddenly, surprising them both with the question.

Kuroo glanced sideways at Kei, before returning his attention forward. "I suppose. I don't really have anything else to compare it to. I've been here my whole life."

"I see," was all Kei said in response.

"You're not from around here, though," Kuroo stated, redirecting the conversation. "If I remember correctly, neither you nor Akiteru grew up in Tokyo."

"Our family's from Miyagi. We grew up in the mountains."

Kuroo hummed, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. "The mountains, huh...you don't strike me as country."

Kei smirked. "No, I'm not." The smile quickly faded. "Akiteru wasn't either. I think it was inevitable that we would both leave after high school."

The conversation halted at the mention of Kei's older brother. Acting as the tether between Kuroo and Kei, his name reminded them of crushing reality; why they even met in the first place. Neither of them spoke for a long time, letting the far-off city sounds fill the void. Finally, it was Kuroo who broke the silence. 

"That guy...was he ever a good person?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, was there anything redeemable there?" Kuroo elaborated. "From my perspective, he's just some deadbeat who drinks and gambles his money away. He lies, steals, and won't hesitate to sell his friends out."

"Are you one to talk, Mr. Yakuza?" Kei countered.

"We're not talking about me."

Kei clenched his jaw, knowing he couldn't argue. Akiteru was all of those things Kuroo listed and more. He wouldn't just sell out friends, he'd sell out family. He had foraged Kei's signature to borrow money from the yakuza and then bailed, knowing it would put his younger brother in harms way. Kuroo's inquiry was valid - had Akiteru _ever_ cared about someone other than himself?

Kei sighed, releasing the tension from his jaw. "When I was younger, Akiteru was my role model."

Kei expected Kuroo to laugh at that, but surprisingly, he remained quiet, listening. And so Kei continued.

"He was personable and had a lot of friends - something I always struggled with. Not to mention, he was good at sports. On weekends, he used to take me to park and teach me how to play volleyball. But in high school, he gradually slipped away. He quit the team his second year and started skipping school to hang out with losers. His grades had never been that great to begin with, but they suffered a lot his final year. It's honestly a miracle that any university would accept him. Once he got to Tokyo, well...I suppose by then he was a lost cause."

Kuroo didn't nod along or interrupt as Kei rambled; he just kept his eyes fixed forward.

"Why do you want to know?" Kei asked after a pause.

Kuroo took one last drag of the cigarette, before putting it on the railing and dropping it to the concrete below. "I guess I'm just trying to wrap my head around you - why you would go to such great lengths for someone like that. It doesn't make sense to me."

"I told you, there's no special reason. He's my brother; that's just what family does."

Kuroo turned fully to face Kei. He inspected him, as if he were trying to discern traces of dishonesty. Kei didn't understand his skepticism until he recalled Kuroo's brief comment from back when they first met: _I never knew my parents._ Suddenly, his disbelief made perfect sense.

For the first time since they met, Kei wanted to know more about Kuroo. What kind of life had driven him to join the yakuza? Had he been left with no choice? Or did he seek them out himself? Kei opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. The space they occupied on that narrow terrace was small, and he didn't want to risk further reducing their distance by digging into Kuroo's past.

"You know, I could say the same for you," Kei finally uttered. "Nothing you do makes sense to me."

Kuroo's steady resignation broke. He allowed himself a faint smile. "Maybe it's better that we don't understand each other." 

Perhaps that would be easier. A shallow understanding was also a comfortable one. To remain ignorant of each other's depth and nuance meant they could better fit their roles: Kei as the poor, beleaguered debtor and Kuroo as the ruthless debt collector. It was a familiar narrative, one that made sense. And when the two inevitably parted at the end of all this, they could bury the memories without ever having to reconcile them. 

But, staring into each other's eyes, they both came to an understanding. There was something here, unacknowledged yet ever-present, like the white noise of the city.

Kei shivered from the cold, and Kuroo took notice. "Let's go to bed," he said, stepping back into the apartment. Kei followed him in.

"You ask me a lot of questions," Kei said, shutting the terrace door behind him, "so I think it's only fair that I do the same."

"Fine, I've got nothing to hide," Kuroo lied.

He turned off the overhead light as Kei slid under the puffy white comforter. The latter took off his glasses and laid them on the ground, above the pillow. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, but eventually they could make out the faint contour of Kuroo's body as he crossed the room. He joined Kei in the futon, their legs brushing accidentally. Kuroo wrenched his feet away.

"Jesus, you're freezing."

Kei ignored him, unaffected by the brief moment of contact. He was propped on his side, watching Kuroo settle on his back, waiting for him to relax. Through the darkness, Kuroo could make out those beautiful golden eyes, catching and reflecting the faint light of the moon.

Kuroo wouldn't consider himself a shallow person, but he couldn't deny that part of his...fascination...for Kei stemmed from the latter's undeniable attractiveness. The man lying next to him was about as pretty as pretty boys got: feather-light blond hair with long lashes to match, fair complexion, and soft pink lips. His height and lean build likened him to a model. Kuroo imagined he would be incredibly popular, if not for the constant frown weighing down his features. 

And, of course, there was that magnetic gaze.

Kuroo copied Kei's position, flipping to his right side, careful not to disturb his injury.

"Ask away."

Kei's mind was swimming with the possibilities. Kuroo likely wouldn't answer anything too personal (truthfully, that is). So, Kei settled on something neutral, something that had been stirring his curiosity since Kuroo first arrived.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

Through the cover of night, Kei knew Kuroo was smirking. He could hear it in his voice. "I should have known." He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "It's really not that interesting of a story. I was collecting a payment and the guy pulled a knife on my subordinate."

"Sounds like an interesting story to me," Kei said.

"It's really not," Kuroo maintained, shifting his head on the pillow to reconnect with Kei's moonlit eyes. "It was just an unfortunate accident. Don't worry; I'll be fine."

"I wasn't worried," Kei said.

"Is that so? Good to know. I wasn't too sure, based on how distraught you looked when I first arrived."

"You were covered in blood," Kei shot back. "Anyone would be concerned. I thought maybe you had-"

Kei cut himself off, but it was too late. Kuroo knew exactly what he intended to say. 

"Killed someone?" He finished. The smirk morphed into something sardonic. "I guess you _would_ think that, huh?"

Kei didn't know why, but he felt an inkling of guilt pool in his gut. He didn't mean to imply anything, but of course that's where his mind would go first. Why should he feel bad for making a reasonable assumption, based on the situation?

Kei decided to push a little further, and see how far he could go. "Have you?"

Kuroo was silent just long enough for Kei to doubt his words. He bit his lip. _Shit, had he gone too far?_

Evidently not, for he soon felt Kuroo relax underneath the covers. 

"I have, though not intentionally," he explained. "It's never intentional. We might rough them up, but killing someone who still owes us money is counter-intuitive. It's only ever a last minute measure, when there's no other choice or we have to defend ourselves. But even in those cases, we still get our money. Most people are worth more dead than alive, you know."

Indeed, Kei knew what Kuroo was referring too. He didn't like imagining such a gruesome trade, however, and pushed thoughts of human organs out of his mind. Part of Kei always knew Kuroo had done unspeakable things, but that didn't make his nonchalance any easier to swallow. Even still, something morbid nagged Kei to pry further.

"Would you really have killed Akiteru?"

Kuroo paused in consideration, and then offered, "I'm not sure."

"What about me?" Kei persisted. "If I can't pay of my brother's debt in time, will you kill me?"

Being in darkness had it's benefits. The details of Kuroo's face were difficult to discern. Therefore, Kei couldn't see the reflexive fear that consumed his expression, before vanishing under a mask of impassivity. He opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again. His first impulse had been to say, _no, of course not._ But Kuroo's job was not to assure his debtors of their safety. If anything, he needed to instill in them constant dread. That way, they wouldn't slack on their payments, fearful of repercussions.

He should say 'maybe', so as to maintain that air of unease. But Kuroo struggled to get the word out.

"It won't come to that," he said instead. "You've already made good on the first payments. I have faith you'll get me those final two."

Kei chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn't know why, but that answer left him with even more questions. _Are you just that forgiving with everyone? Or is it just me?_

But Kuroo had already turned his head away on the pillow, shutting the conversation down. "Don't you have school in the morning? You should sleep."

"Mmm," Kei agreed, knowing it was the right call. If they kept going, Kei might unearth something about Kuroo that neither of them were prepared to address.

Kei settled on his back, pulling the covers up to his chin. He could feel heat radiating off Kuroo's body like an hot water bottle. In contrast, his own skin was still chilled by the outside air. Taking advantage of the warmth, Kei inched slightly closer and inhaled deeply. The smell of smoke clung to Kuroo, mixing with whiskey and the indistinct remnants of that sickly sweet cologne.

"What cologne do you use?" Kei asked with a yawn.

"I thought we were done with the questions, Tsukishima-kun," came Kuroo's voice.

"Just one more."

Kuroo grit his teeth, trying to keep his thoughts from drifting somewhere vulgar. The sleepiness had set into Kei's voice, and left him sounding _incredibly_ defenseless. "Tobacco Vanille."

Kei just hummed. Such a non-response left Kuroo curious, however.

"Why?"

"I hate it," Kei said flatly. Kuroo couldn't see it, but he was smiling as he spoke. "When we kissed, I kept thinking about how much better you would taste if you weren't wearing it."

Kei wished he could've seen Kuroo's face in that moment. _Serves him right_ , he thought, drifting further and further into sleep. The provocative bastard deserved a little taste of his own medicine.

But Kuroo had gotten more than a mere taste. His entire body flushed red while his hands clutched the futon for dear life. If he let go now, he risked reaching over, pulling Kei on top of him, and making him eat those words.

_Give me a fucking break._

Earlier, he'd been quick to accuse Kei of wanting him, but that was nothing more than a projection of his own desires. In truth, Kuroo hadn't been able to think of much else since they first met. Almost nightly, he was haunted by visions of Kei bent over on his elbows, the elegant curve of his spine arched down, the lewd cries escaping his lips as Kuroo ruined him.

Fucking someone didn't mean you loved them, or even that you cared about them. It could be as impersonal as a business transaction. But Kuroo wasn't a fool. While it was his job to collect money from Kei, there was nothing impersonal or business-like about their relationship. The attraction was long-established, and underneath, something else bloomed.

Kuroo focused on his breathing, steadying himself until the impact of Kei's voice had subsided. He then made a mental note to throw out that cologne when he got home. 

* * *

By the time Kei woke up the next morning, Kuroo had already left. He was quick to notice the absence of body heat, for it had been offering him comfort through the night. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning, before retrieving his glasses and putting them on. The sun was just beginning to rise, ivory light streaming through the glass of the terrace door, which meant Kuroo had been up before dawn. He couldn't have gotten more than five hours of sleep.

The clothing Kuroo had borrowed was folded neatly on the floor. On top of it, a note was perched, written on paper torn from one of Kei's composition books. Kei retrieved the note and quickly scanned it over.

_Thanks for letting me crash._

_I'll be back in another month for the third payment. Make sure you have the proper amount. I won't be as lenient next time._

_\- Kuroo_

_P.S. In the future, don't share a bed with a stranger, dumbass. Not all of them are as well-behaved as I am._

Kei scoffed at the message, crumpling it in his hand.

"He's got terrible handwriting too."


	6. Just name your price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> behold, my ultimate crackship

Kei didn't like going out.

College parties and nightclubs never appealed to him for obvious reasons. He wasn't social by nature, nor did he drink. Being surrounded by a mob of intoxicated, sweaty bodies, while an overblown bass line pounded in his ears was pretty much his waking nightmare.

Bars were comparably more tolerable. In general, they were less suffocating and loud. But Kei still didn't appreciate the drunk patrons and purveyance of alcohol. He would much rather spend his free time at home, quietly reading and drinking tea. If he was feeling social, he would meet a friend for coffee or go to a record shop, someplace where they could talk without oppressive music drowning out their voices.

Yet, Kei had somehow found himself in a bar that night. He leaned against the counter, sipping his over-priced ginger ale from a glass meant for gin and tonics, glaring at Yamaguchi from across the room.

Soon after they arrived, Yamaguchi had ran into a few underclassmen from his finance club. _Go get yourself a drink, I'll only be five_ _minutes,_ he had promised. Ten minutes later and Yamaguchi was still chatting away. He stood at the center of the group, his freckled face lighting up with laughter at something funny.

Kei propped his elbow on the table, long legs crossed over the narrow bar stool. He wore a loose white turtleneck and a pair of black cropped pants. It as the first time he had dressed up nicely for what felt like ages. He must've looked bitter all by himself, abandoned by the person who begged him to come.

To be clear, Kei had gone out as a favor to Yamaguchi, who he hadn't seen in a month. Ever since the ordeal with Kuroo began, Kei had intentionally distanced himself from those he cared for most - an effort to prevent their involvement. He knew the only way he could protect his best friend was to keep him in the dark. At the same time, Yamaguchi was the only person on earth who could see through Kei's lies. Therefore, his only option was avoidance.

But the stubborn brunette wouldn't let himself be ignored so easily.

"Let's do something fun!" He had suggested, cornering Kei in their shared Sociology course.

The latter attempted to provide a weak excuse, alluding vaguely to homework and chores, but Yamaguchi wouldn't listen. "Please? I feel like I haven't seen you outside of school in ages."

Eventually, Kei's guilt won out and he gave in, agreeing to meet Yamaguchi in a bar close by campus.

Kei pulled out his phone and checked the time. _10:34 PM_. Still early for a Friday night, yet the space was lively. A healthy mix of fellow students and working professionals populated the dimly-lit room. Kei wondered how long Yamaguchi intended to stay out, already devising a way to leave early.

He could say he had work in the morning, and needed to get a good night's sleep before suffering through that brutal triple shift. It wasn't even a lie - Kei was still working 40+ hours to pay off the debt. That was another reason for his recent distance. Kei simply lacked the time for friends.

Countless voices carried around him, conversations overlapping and bleeding into each other. Yet somehow, from the cacophony, a single voice startled him.

"Are you alone?"

Kei turned to his side. The empty seat that had been reserved for Yamaguchi was now up taken by some stranger. The man inspected him with warm brown eyes, clearly intrigued. Based on the suit and tie, Kei guessed he was a salaryman, albeit a young one. His short brown hair was swept to one side, framing an admittedly handsome face.

"Or did you come here with your boyfriend?" The man continued, hoping to be corrected.

"Friend," Kei said, nodding in Yamaguchi's direction. "I'll be leaving shortly though."

"So soon? But you've just sat down."

Kei raised an inquisitive brow, as if to ask, _how do you know that?_ The man just cocked his head to the side, smirking.

"I noticed you the second you walked in," he confessed. "Couldn't take my eyes off you."

"That's a good line," Kei remarked, examining his nails thoughtlessly. "You should go use it on someone who cares."

Sharp words punctuated by an even sharper glare - Kei's specialty. Such venom was usually enough to stave off vultures. But this man didn't appear deterred in slightest.

"Fiesty. I like that," he said with a wink.

"What do you want?" Kei asked bluntly.

The man shrugged, taking his attitude in stride. "I'd like to keep you company while you wait for your friend, that's all."

Kei rolled his eyes. He didn't know why, but he always seemed to attract the cocky assholes. In particular, salaryman's confidence reminded him of one asshole in particular, with messy black hair and sharp amber eyes.

"Is there a name to match that pretty face?"

Well, whatever. Kei supposed he had some time to kill while Yamaguchi was busy. Besides, it had been a while since he received this kind of upfront attention from a handsome stranger, overconfident or not. He might as well have some fun.

"Tsukishima."

"Mmm, I like it. You can call me Futakuchi. Would you let me to buy you a drink while we wait?"

"I don't drink," Kei said, taking another sip of the ginger ale and swirling the glass. "It's soda."

Futakuchi clicked his tongue, inspecting the fizzy liquid. "I see..." He decided to switch his angle of attack and strike again. "Are you a student, Tsukishima-kun?"

Kei nodded, but kept his eyes wandering the room, scanning for nothing in particular. If Futakuchi wanted his undivided attention, he'd have to earn it.

"What are you studying?"

"Literature."

"Hmm...do you like to read?"

Kei nodded again.

"What a coincidence, I do too."

"Really?"

"Er- no, not really," Futakuchi answered honestly, chuckling at his own lie. He inched slightly forward on the bar stool, moving a hand to stroke Kei's upper thigh. His voice dropped a few octaves. "But I'd start for you."

Kei just snorted, pushing his hand off. "You're so full of shit," he said, though he was smiling too.

In truth, Futakuchi wasn't really his type. He was unquestionably handsome and charming, but in a way that was almost predictable. His hair was styled and clean, his demeanor affable, if not a little bold. The suit he wore was fashionable yet affordable. In general, there was no real mystery or intrigue elicited by his presence. He was simply your average, good-looking salaryman.

Futakuchi felt safe, especially when compared to some as unpredictable as Kuroo. Kei could easily handle his flirting, brazen as it might be.

"I'm curious to know what your strategy is here," Kei began. He rested his cheek on his palm, sizing up his company with a newfound interest. "If you've got one, that is."

"Uh...persistence?" He offered.

"Not good enough."

Futakuchi laughed again, and Kei decided he didn't hate the sound. It was oddly pleasant, and deep. Maybe on a different night, Kei would have indulged Futakuchi's not-so-subtle advances. But his entry into Kei's life had been poorly-timed, to say the least.

"I suggest you abandon that persistence. You're just wasting your time," Kei advised him.

"How can you be so sure that I won't wear you down with my charm?"

Kei frowned at this, shifting his focus to study the bottom of his near-empty glass. It wasn't a matter of charm so much as it was time. He couldn't afford to get caught up with some handsome stranger, regardless of how nicely he laughed. He had more pressing matters to concern himself with, like the debt, and Akiteru.

_And Kuroo._

"C'mon, now, there's got to be something I can do to get you to come home with me," Futakuchi pressed, his hand returning to Kei's thigh, gently stroking the fabric as he leaned in again. Their faces were close, and Kei inched backwards before he got carried away.

"I'm afraid there isn't," Kei said. He hesitated, the two million yen obscuring his thoughts like a thick fog. He then let a wry smile consume his lips, before thoughtlessly musing, "Unless you'd like to pay me, that is. Maybe then I'd spare some of my time."

Futakuchi blinked in surprise, taking a moment to process the playful remark.

Kei had suggested it as a joke, never in a million years believing this man would actually take him up on the offer. If anything, he anticipated Futakuchi would be turned off by the idea of solicitation and finally give up his pursuit. Kei was therefore shocked to feel the hand tightening around his thigh.

"Is that a genuine offer?" he said, his eyes losing their warmth. "That kind of thing...I'm not against it." He swallowed, appraising Kei's body with hunger.

Kei didn't know what to say, his mind suddenly racing. _He'd actually pay me?_

Back when Kuroo first barged into his life, he had proposed prostitution as a means of earning money. Kei, however, had been quick to brush it off, regarding such tactics as obviously below him. The image he'd had of sex work had been colored by assumptions about the yakuza. He imagined himself forced to work at some kind of brothel, run by Kuroo's people and catering to disgusting lowlifes. He never once imagined the possibility of seeking out partners himself - least of all landing a decent guy like Futakuchi.

Taking money from him almost felt wrong. Kei would've slept with this man for free, given different circumstances. 

At the same time, he was genuinely strapped for cash. Kuroo had made it clear that coming up short wouldn't be tolerated a second time. And, at the rate Kei was currently earning, that was a very real possibility. Something like this could mean the difference between meeting the deadline, and suffering consequences.

"How much?" Futakuchi asked.

Kei clenched his jaw. He didn't know how to answer that question, for solicitation was completely new territory. What was a normal rate? What kind of boundaries should he set beforehand?

"Am I interrupting something?"

Yamaguchi arrived with perfect timing. He had his hands behind his back, inspecting the two with amusement as they pulled away sheepishly, like teenagers caught fooling around by a parent. Kei was still at a loss for words, so Futakuchi spoke for him.

"Of course not," he said with a wave, standing back up and freeing the spot initially meant for Yamaguchi. "I was just making sure Tsukishima-kun didn't get too lonely. But now that you're here, I'll take my leave."

Futakuchi presented his business card to Kei. It featured the name of a prominent energy company, followed by the characters for _Kenji Futakuchi_ and his phone number.

"Give me a call, if you're still interested," he said, shooting Kei another wink before rejoining his co-workers on the other side of the bar.

Kei didn't know what to do with the business card, so he simply set it down on the bar counter. Yamaguchi ordered himself a rum and coke as he took a seat at the bar.

"I'm gone for ten minutes and you're already getting picked up?" He laughed. "How nostalgic."

In high school, Kei had always been the popular one, adored by his classmates from a distance as an unattainable idol. His standoffish nature, confidence, and good looks were like an unspoken challenge. Not a week went by where Kei didn't receive some kind of love letter or confession behind the school building, all of which he turned down with little care.

Yamaguchi never minded being overshadowed by his best friend. In fact, he had sought out Kei for those same reasons, drawn in by that magnetic air of assurance and intent on cracking through the icy exterior. To this day, he had been the only one to ever succeed.

In college, their dynamic began to switch. Kei's anti-social tendencies were reinforced by the isolating nature of the city and less people had access to him as a result. Meanwhile, Yamaguchi grew out his hair long, pierced his ears, and put on some muscle. The new look mixed with his naturally affable disposition drew people to him like moths to a flame, and now he was the one who strangers hit on.

"You were taking forever," Kei said pointedly. He was still annoyed. "Wasn't it _your_ idea to hang out?"

Yamaguchi clapped his hands in apology. "Sorry, Tsukki. I just wanted to say hello to my kouhai, that's all. But I promise it's just us tonight." He stopped to say thank you when the rum and coke was delivered, before turning back to Kei. "I wasn't lying when I said I missed you."

Kei swallowed a lump in his throat. He'd missed Yamaguchi too. "Well, I guess I'll forgive you. But you're picking up my tab."

Yamaguchi laughed. "Fair enough."

* * *

The night had been surprisingly fun. Kei wasn't one to stay out later than 9 PM. Yet somehow, he and Yamaguchi had managed to completely lose track of time. Midnight came and went without either one noticing. Only when the hour hit 1 AM did Kei finally insist on leaving.

The two stood on the curb outside the bar, waiting for Yamaguchi's uber. In contrast to Kei, whose apartment was in walking distance, Yamaguchi lived nearly twenty minutes away from campus. He'd missed the last train too, which meant driving was his only option. When the car arrived, Yamaguchi enveloped Kei in a tight hug, squeezing him a little too hard and nearly crushing his ribs in the process.

"This was so nice!" He giggled, a little more than tipsy. His freckled face glowed red, eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled broadly. "Let's get coffee tomorrow! Er- wait...I mean today!"

Kei rolled his eyes, pulling away from the bear hug. He was far too sober for this kind of PDA. "I told you, I'm working tomorrow...I mean, today."

Yamaguchi frowned, but the expression was exaggerated. "Tsukki, you workaholic~"

"I know, I know," Kei said mindlessly, trying to herd Yamaguchi into the uber. He leaned over and buckled his friend's seatbelt, like a mother securing her toddler in a carseat. He then told the driver Yamaguchi's address from memory. "Text me when you get home," he instructed.

Yamaguchi saluted him. "Roger that."

Kei huffed out a laugh. "You're such a dork." He moved to close the door, but Yamaguchi wouldn't let him, grabbing his wrist.

"Hey, Tsukki, wait a second," he said in a low voice. All traces of alcohol seemed to vanish from his system: the once hazy eyes were now clear, and he was no longer smiling. "You would tell me if you needed me, right?"

Kei's blood suddenly ran cold. He had to fight the urge to wrench his hand away. They'd only been together for a matter of hours and already Yamaguchi suspected something was wrong. In his head, Kei ran through the events of that night, trying to pin point exactly when he'd slipped up. "What are you talking about? I...of course I would."

Yamaguchi's grip grew stronger. "You can come to me for _anything_."

Kei forced himself to smile through the fear. "What are you even getting at? I'm fine."

But his efforts to brush the concern off were shallow and ineffective. He could tell Yamaguchi didn't believe him.

Part of him hated lying to his best friend, for they had always been honest with each other. But this wasn't just some high school secret. Getting involved with the yakuza was dangerous, and Kei wouldn't dare drag Yamaguchi into this mess. "Trust me," he assured. "Nothing's wrong." He paused, coming up with an excuse on the spot. "The extra shifts aren't for me. Mom and dad are struggling a little bit, so I'm trying to earn some cash to send home. It's not something you need to be worried about."

With this, Yamaguchi's hold finally relented. "I can help out too," he offered. "You know I love your parents, and I've got some cash lying around."

"No," Kei said, pinching Yamaguchi's cheek. "That's your money, save it for yourself."

The stupid, intoxicated grin returned and Yamaguchi chuckled. "Alright, alight, if you insist." He brushed Kei's fingers away. "Let's do this again soon, maybe some time next week?"

"Sounds good."

Kei finally shut the car door. As he watched the uber drive off, his heart sank steadily in his chest. It didn't feel right - lying like that - but he had no other choice. Yamaguchi was too important to him.

Besides, all he needed to do was make it to January. Those last six weeks would _hell_ , he knew, but Kei was clever. He'd figured something out.

"Well, well, if it isn't Tsukishima-kun," came a familiar voice. "Lucky me."

Kei glanced over his shoulder and saw Futakuchi standing behind him, now donning a winter trench coat, his hands tucked into the pockets. The warm glow of the bar's still-bustling interior backlit him, so Kei couldn't see his expression. Based on the way he spoke, however, Kei knew he was beaming, as if he'd struck gold in a mine.

"Were waiting for me?" Kei said, crossing his arms over his chest. He turned back towards the street dismissively, ignoring the way his heart pounded.

"And if I was?" Futakuchi asked. He closed the distance between them with slow and measured steps. "We were cut off earlier. I never got an answer to my question."

_How much?_

Kei's shoulders shivered, but whether it was from the nerves or the cold, he was unsure. He still didn't have an answer to give Futakuchi. Sleeping with someone for cash was out of his depth. At the same time, a little bit of extra money would definitely help to alleviate his burden. He wanted to say yes, but lacked the confidence to commit fully. He shook his head.

"It's late," he offered in excuse.

"C'mon, baby, don't be like that." Kei didn't pull away when he felt Futakuchi's hand fall to his hip, pulling him closer, nor did he flinch when he felt his lips caress the shell of his ear. "Let's go to a hotel, yeah? Just name your price."

Despite his efforts at denial, Kei melted into the resonance of his voice. He shut his eyes, legs growing weak as Futakuchi continued to nip and kiss his neck. Heat coiled in his stomach, his hands clenching and unclenching.

Kei's thoughts grew restless, overstimulated, operating without his consent. Immediately, he found himself back in the moment when he'd last felt such electricity. It was a memory he repeatedly tried to suppress, yet remained defiantly alive: Kuroo's needy hands all over him, the friction between their bodies, and the way Kei's name fit perfectly on those lips...

Before he could stop it, a moan escaped Kei's throat.

Futakuchi smiled triumphantly against his jaw. He pulled away and nodded over his shoulder. "Let's go, I know a place nearby."

And Kei could do nothing but nod in compliance. He let himself be led through the city streets to an unfamiliar part of town, still dazed by the visions of Kuroo.

* * *

Kei and Futakuchi were quick to agree on a rate.

Initially, the former was unsure what would be reasonable. He didn't want to over-estimate his appeal and repel the latter's interest. Yet he also didn't want to undersell himself.

When Kei proposed a safe 50,000 yen, Futakuchi didn't so much as bat an eye. Apparently, he made quite the living for himself at that energy company. Dropping that kind of money on sex was little more than a minor expense for him. Either that, or Futakuchi was desperate to have Kei, no matter the cost.

Regardless of the reason, Futakuchi agreed. Then, on the same breath, he instructed Kei to get on his knees.

With the rate settled, Kei's confidence returned. This was the part he _knew_.

For him, a one-night stand was precisely how sex was meant to be experienced: shed of it's obtrusive sentimentality. He wanted his partners impersonal in their regard and animalistic in their want. No feelings, no context - just pure, shallow attraction.

And damn if it didn't feel good.

Or it _would_ have felt good, if not for one tiny problem. The thoughts of Kuroo from earlier had lingered, stubborn and potent. Kei tried everything to rid himself of those amber eyes, but he could practically feel them raking over his body as he was bent over the king bed and taken from behind. He tried to center himself on the moment, the point of connection between two bodies. _Futakuchi is your partner_ , he reminded himself. _Focus on him._

But Kei's memories were more than intoxicating. His entire body burned as if he'd been slipped an aphrodisiac, dizzy and desperate for release. And when he finally did break with a keening whine, it wasn't Futakuchi who had brought him over the edge. Not really.

"Fuck, baby, you're worth every cent," the now redressed Futakuchi said as he threw the wad of cash onto the bed. Kei wondered distantly why he kept so much money on his person; it seemed irresponsible.

Kei was still naked under the covers of the hotel bed. He had the white comforter pulled conservatively up to is chest, as if he hadn't just gone three consecutive rounds with the man before him. Sweat glistened on his pale skin, in desperate need of a shower. He checked the time on the beside clock. _3:45 AM_.

He needed to be at work in four hours.

"You still got my card?" Futakuchi asked.

Kei nodded as he thumbed through the money. It was all there in one pretty stack: one tenth of his monthly payment. Kei was still in shock.

"Good. If you're ever in the mood, give me a call. This was fun."

Kei nodded again, knowing full well he'd never see Futakuchi again. This was indeed fun, but Kei didn't do repeats. Moreover, he was still reeling from the fact that he'd gotten off not to salaryman, but...

The door slammed closed; Futakuchi left Kei's life as quickly and bluntly as he had entered it. Kei reclined against the fluffy pillows. Exhaustion was truly beginning to set in, and he wouldn't be able to fight off sleep for much longer. The thought of waking in less than two hours was horrific, made worse by the fact that he'd be on his feet for another twelve. He should've followed Futakuchi's lead and gone home, but the king bed was too inviting. Good thing they had booked the room til seven.

Before he slipped into unconsciousness, Kei quickly did the math. In a normal twleve hour shift, he would make about 20,000 yen, which was less than half of what he'd just earned from sleeping with a stranger. Kei wondered if there were other men like Futakuchi out there, financially stable and willing to shell out some cash in exchange for Kei's company. As much as he resented the means, such payoff was too enticing to ignore.

Kei grabbed his phone from the bedside table and set an alarm for 6 AM. He then drafted his manager a quick text - something she wouldn't receive until morning.

_Was up all night with food poisoning. I'm afraid I won't be able to come in to work today. Sorry for the late notice._


End file.
